


Bonds Left Unbroken

by TheMockingJ3



Series: Bonds Left Unbroken [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Desmond gets adopted by the Laytons too, Gen, Professor Layton AU, Uploaded from my old account
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 50,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingJ3/pseuds/TheMockingJ3
Summary: Glimpses into what life could have been like had they gone together. (AU)
Relationships: Desmond Sycamore & Desmond Sycamore's Daughter, Desmond Sycamore & Mrs Sycamore, Desmond Sycamore & the Laytons, Hershel Layton & Desmond Sycamore, Hershel Layton & Jean Descole, Raymond & Desmond Sycamore
Series: Bonds Left Unbroken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687009
Comments: 38
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: For the prequel series. Some spoilers for the original trilogy.

"It's such a shame... You know we can't take both of you."

I nod, smiling. "Yes, but I know Hershel will be happy." My little brother doesn't comment, thankfully. His wellbeing is all that matters now.

"And what about you?"

"Oh, don't worry. A family in the village will take care of me. The, uh... the Phibs!" Hopefully they won't find out that _I'm_ telling fibs. (I actually plan on leaving with Mr Raymond soon.) But I'm a very good liar...

My brother clings to my back tightly and I pat his shoulder.

"I see." Mrs Layton seems to accept my story. "Well, it was nice to meet you, anyway."

"You too."

As much as it hurts, I must let my brother go. I can see the confusion and the sadness in his eyes as he's gently ushered towards the cab. He's smart for his age, but he can't understand why we're being torn apart. I remain in the doorway, willing him (and myself) to accept it. _Be happy, Brother._ _This is the start of your new life..._

"N-no... NO!" There's a sudden howl. My sibling squirms past Mrs Layton and charges back to the house. Back to me. Racked with sobs, he throws his arms around my waist, burying his head in the front of my vest. "I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE MY BIG BROTHER!"

"Theo..." I breathe. He's a fairly quiet boy– I've never seen him so upset before, not even after our parents were kidnapped. "Stop it," I hiss, trying to be strict with him. This could ruin his chances of getting adopted...!

Mr and Mrs Layton watch with concerned, shocked expressions as I attempt to detach myself from my brother. But he stubbornly hangs on, weeping, sobbing, and begging me.

"You _need_ to go," I grind out. There may be tears in my own eyes, but I force them back. "You can't stay here! J-just _go...!"_ A quivering gasp escapes my lips. I can't do it. I can't say goodbye to him like this...

For these past moments, the Laytons have been talking.

"Perhaps... Perhaps we could take care of both of them?" Mrs Layton murmurs. "I can't bear to separate the poor dears..."

"I know it's hard for them, Lucille," her husband replies. "But we don't want to make any rash decisions."

"All we've ever wanted is a child of our own. But I couldn't live with myself if that child was unhappy."

"...Neither could I," Mr Layton eventually agrees. His mind made up, he approaches the pair of us. My brother's grip tightens. He's scared he'll be pulled away from me. Rather, Mr Layton puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Son... would you like to stay with us as well?"

With his kind, fatherly offer, my resolve finally comes crumbling down. The pent-up tears pour out like a burst dam. When I start crying, I can't stop. "Y-yes, please!"

I realize now, I'm not ready to get revenge on Targent and the Azran for taking my parents away. I'm not ready to abandon my brother. I'm not ready to be alone yet.

This is how my brother and I start our new lives together. Our lives as Hershel and Desmond Layton.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hershel is 7, Desmond is 12._

* * *

' _Dear Wise Guardian,_

_If you're reading this, don't worry about me. Things have changed. I'll be living with my brother and the adoptive family for a little while. As soon as we reach their residence, I'll be in touch with you._

_-Your friend, Desmond. (Please address me as such from now on.)'_

After placing a scrawled note (devoid of any real names) for Raymond on the kitchen windowsill, I rush upstairs to retrieve a brown rucksack once belonging to my father. Originally, I'd prepared to leave with Raymond, so the bag contains several books, spare clothes, a torch and some items salvaged from my father's study. When packing my brother's bag, I made sure he took a few toys. I, however, only have room for the essentials.

I cast a longing look at the novels cramming my bedroom shelves. On my desk is the _Volume of Fairytales_ my mother gave me. I'm a bit old for fairytales, but surely I have enough space for _one_ more book...

Packing complete, I heave the rucksack onto my shoulders and dash into the living room.

Since our parents' abduction, my brother and I have been sleeping down here in a tent. (Just in case we ever needed to make quick escape out the back door.) I grab a family photo off the mantelpiece. This way I'll never forget what's been stolen from us, or forgive those responsible.

My brother latches onto my hand the instant I return to the hall. (Does he really believe I would desert him now?)

Mr Layton asks, "Are you ready to go, son...?"

"Please," I whisper, "just call me Desmond." (It's the name of a character from an adventure story I really enjoyed about two brothers: _Desmond and Descole._ )

I squeeze my brother... _Hershel's_ hand to remind him of the name-switch. I hope it sinks in. We don't want Targent tracking us.

As we enter the cab, Hershel and I gaze out the window for our last view of the little red-roofed house on the hill. The front garden is overgrown, dust coats the windows and ivy creeps up the walls. It looks so... lonely. That house is no longer our home. Only desolate memories and shattered dreams dwell there now.

Our old lives fade into the distance along with the village. I'll miss this place, despite never having many friends or that sense of utter _belonging._ The community will wonder for years what truly became of the Bronevs. ( _'Do you remember that nice family of archaeology nut heads?')_

Hershel sits between me and Mrs Layton, his head leaning against my shoulder as he nods off. I allow myself a small smile. Maybe he can finally get a restful sleep.

For a while, we simply drive in silence, passing hills and fields. The Laytons probably don't know what to say. They arrived expecting to adopt one child, but they got saddled with two. Though, I'm hardly a child anymore...

"You're very good with him."

I glance from the dozing Hershel to Mrs Layton. She's smiling at me faintly. "Erm, yes," I mumble.

She seems hesitant, but pats my arm. "If there's anything you would like to talk about, please don't be afraid, dear."

"I won't— I mean, thank you."

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, Mr Layton pipes up from the passenger seat, "What do think of puzzles, Desmond?"

"Puzzles?" I raise an eyebrow. What do puzzles have to do with anything?

"Oh, Roland," his wife sighs. "Not now..."

"I can't imagine a better time for puzzles," Mr Layton chuckles. "Here, my boy, why don't you give this one a try?"

I'm always up for a challenge, even given how... curious Mr Layton's request is. He's impressed by how quickly I answer his puzzles, all correct of course.

_"Ha! No puzzle can stand in my way!"_

Unfortunately, I get a bit carried away and my triumphant declarations wake Hershel. He yawns, subconsciously reaching for my hand. Once he's satisfied that I haven't disappeared, his drowsy gaze shifts to the window. Hershel gasps when the looming city comes into focus.

"Is that _London?"_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hershel is 7, Desmond is 12._

* * *

The Laytons live in the suburbs of London in a cosy bungalow with a decent-sized kitchen, an old-fashioned living room and a small garden. There are only two bedrooms, so Hershel and I are sharing. Hershel takes the bed while I sleep on some settee pillows Mrs Layton arranged on the floor. Mr Layton has promised to buy me a proper bed soon, but I don't care as long as Hershel is comfortable.

During our third night here, Hershel's voice cries out through the darkness. "No, p- _please!_ Leave us alone! Don't take my brother too...!"

My eyes snap open. When I realise Hershel is only dreaming, I jump onto his bed and shake him awake. "Shhh, Hershel it's alright— they're gone now. We're _safe_..."

Hershel's breathing is ragged. He blinks at me. His eyes are round and glistening with tears. "Her... _D-Desmond?_ I... I thought the bad people had got you, like Mummy and Daddy—" He yelps when Mr and Mrs Layton burst into our room, switching the light on.

"Good heavens, you two, what's the matter?" Mrs Layton gasps. She's as white as her cotton pyjamas.

I sigh, "We're fine. Hershel just had a nightmare."

Mrs Layton turns to Hershel and he starts bawling all over again.

"There, there, you poor dear..." She wraps her arms around him, rocking him back on forth.

Meanwhile, Mr Layton goes out to fetch some tissues and a soothing cup of tea. ("For the young lad's nerves.")

When Hershel has calmed down and is safely tucked back into bed, he hiccups, "C-can I have a story, please?"

"Of course you can..." Mrs Layton glances towards the set of drawers where our few possessions have been placed. "Which one would you like me to read?"

"I want Desmond to read to me."

"Alright, then," I say, picking up the _Volume of Fairytales_ and sitting on the edge of his bed. I flick to a random page and begin to read aloud in a dramatic tone that Hershel always finds entertaining. _"_ _Long ago in a lawless age, a pack of bandits invaded a small village..."_

For several minutes, Mrs Layton hovers in the doorway, uncertain whether her attention is still required. Hershel doesn't even notice when she finally leaves the room. He's too engrossed in the tale of the spectre that protected its town at the call of a farm girl's flute.

When the story is finished, my brother whispers, "I wish we had a magic flute. Then we could call the spectre and he could look after us."

I close the book, killing the childish fantasy. (Unfortunately for us, there's no such thing as magic.) I tell him firmly, " _Mr and Mrs Layton_ are looking after us now."

"Are they our new mummy and daddy?"

His question catches me off guard. "No..." I murmur. As kind as the Laytons are, they can never replace our _real_ parents. "But you can call them _Ma_ and _Pa_ if you like. _"_ (They're rather unusual names, but it feels like a betrayal to address them as 'Mum and Dad'.)

"Okay..." Hershel leans his head against his pillow. "'Night, Desmond..."

"Goodnight." As I return the _Volume of Fairytales_ to the drawer, I pick up a pen and a piece of paper.

_'_ _Dear Wise Guardian,_

_We've reached the family's residence without problem. They've been very welcoming towards us. Still, my brother continues to have nightmares...'_

Within the letter, I enclose a puzzle (Mr Layton gave me the idea) that only Raymond should be able to solve. This will inform him of our location. Tomorrow when Mrs Layton takes us shopping, I'll send it to him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hershel is 7, Desmond is 12._

* * *

Time passes peacefully with the Laytons, much to my relief.

Hershel and I start attending school here. My brother's nightmares gradually dwindle and he becomes more cheerful day by day. His teachers adore him as he is a bright boy with a quiet but courteous manner _._ (A 'little angel'.)

I'm even more intelligent than him, though I have the tendency to be 'distant'. Ironically, by behaving aloofly I attract _more_ attention to myself. Mr and Mrs Layton are eventually called in about my lack of participation in class.

Meanwhile, Hershel and I have been left in the care of Mr Layton's younger brother, Douglas. 'Uncle Doug' (as he insists we call him) and his wife Dana are visiting London for the week. The timing _couldn't be more perfect_.

Dana has gone shopping, leaving only Doug to entertain us with his endless fishing stories. I can handle Mr Layton's puzzles as they test my mental capability, but this... this is pure _torture_.

"Did I tell you boys about the time I caught a _sixteen inch_ _perch_ at the Memory Knoll?"

"Yes, you did, _three times_ already," I mutter, trying to complete my homework at the kitchen table. By nature I care very little for aquatic creatures, so Doug's ramblings bore me to death. If he must have a pastime relating to animals, why can't it be something exciting like lion taming or horse racing or dog training?

Hershel offers Doug some more tea and makes a polite attempt to change the subject. "What's the Memory Knoll, Uncle Doug?"

"It's a lovely little spot in Stansbury— the town where I live," Doug explains whimsically. "They say treasured memories are made at the Knoll. There's a hill where you can sit and relax watching the river. Perfect place for fishing too!"

 _"Of course,"_ I snark as we hear the front door open. Our surrogate parents are back along with Dana, who hauls her husband away before he can strike up another conversation.

"It was nice meeting you kids." Doug waves, as does Dana. "You'll have to come to Stansbury sometime. The carp are meant to be booming this year— "

"Yes, we'll keep in touch." Mrs Layton all but shoves our guests outside in her haste. "Goodbye, Doug and Dana. Have a safe journey back!"

"What's the rush, Lucille?" Mr Layton wonders as she renters the kitchen. He's taken a seat at the table, newspaper in hand. "I was hoping to catch up with Doug..."

"You two had plenty of time to catch up earlier," Mrs Layton reminds him. Then she sighs, "I'm sorry. I just need to talk to Desmond."

Hershel glances at me quizzically. _Are you in trouble?_

Without a word, I put down my pen and follow Mrs Layton into the hall. I swear, she fusses over us like a mother hen...

Thankfully, she doesn't seem angry (though, I have yet to see her angry, so I wouldn't know), just concerned.

Mrs Layton wrings her hands together. "Desmond... Your teacher, Miss Wake is very impressed with your work, but she's worried that you aren't happy in school. Are you finding it alright? Nobody's picking on you, are they?"

"Everything's fine." I shrug. "I'm just... shy, that's all." (Hershel's quiet too, but no one gives him this kind of grief!)

"Well, I told her you might take a little while to settle in, after what you and Hershel have been through—"

My heart freezes in my chest. "Y-you _told_ her about Hershel and me? You didn't tell her that you aren't our _real parents_ , did you?" I'm panicking too much to notice the hurt that appears in her expression. "What have you _done_?" I growl. "They... they could find out about us now!"

"Desmond!" the woman exclaims, reaching out for me. "Please, calm down! I'm sure none of the other children would think any less of you—"

 _"You_ _don't understand!"_ I charge upstairs as she covers her mouth. 

I may be acting childishly. I may not have given Mrs Layton a chance to explain. But the temporary peace of mind I believed we'd found has been shattered. All I can see is Targent discovering our hiding place. They'll storm into the house to capture me and my brother. The Laytons will either be killed just for helping us, or taken away (if they're lucky).

Just like our parents...

 _No!_ I refuse to let that happen again. I grab a pen, rip out some paper and write furiously:

_'Raymond, I need your help!'_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hershel is 8, Desmond is 12._

* * *

It's been a few weeks since my... outburst.

Despite the Laytons talking to my teacher, we're all fine for the time being— no sign of Targent anywhere nearby.

Rather worryingly though, I've still yet to hear from Raymond. I know he'd never let us down... but what if he's had a nasty run-in with Targent?

Raymond's done so much for my brother and me. Back in our old village, he was a distant neighbour of ours. He brought us food, kept us safe and helped to arrange the adoption for Hershel (before plans changed). Sometimes, I wonder if I should've stayed with him instead...

Mrs Layton notices that I'm brooding. Every so often, she'll cast these questioning, concerned glances at me, but she doesn't comment, not after our misunderstanding. I wish I could explain that it isn't _her_ fault. Or Mr Layton's. Or mine. It's Targent's— always, _always Targent's._ But how can I expect her to believe that a thieving, family-destroying agency is to blame for everything? Hershel and Roland do most of the talking between the four of us.

I spend Christmas holed up in my bedroom, reminiscing holidays spent with my blood parents while Hershel savours Mrs Layton's turkey dinner downstairs. (Honestly, it smells really good; maybe even better than my mother's cooking...)

In the evening, Hershel comes up to deliver my presents, but I pretend to be asleep. (I have my own bed now, by the window.) I hear him place something on the bookshelf and whisper, "Merry Christmas, Desmond..." When he scampers away, I see that he's left me a plate of chocolate Yule log and a rectangular-shaped present. I smile weakly as I un-wrap it. Sure enough, it's a book titled, _The Eternal Kingdom of Ambrosia_. _Thanks, Hershel._

Soon my brother's eighth birthday is upon us, and there's no way I can avoid it without devastating Hershel. I'm relieved that he doesn't want a noisy party at the house. He simply pleads that we all visit the seaside. (I suppose the location is nondescript enough...)

"In the middle of _January_...?" Mrs Layton asks in amusement. "But you could catch a cold!"

Hershel can't be deterred, though. "Please, please, Ma!"

So, bundled up in our coats and scarves, we take a trip to the beach closest to London. Hershel's cheeks may be flushed from the cool brine air, but he enjoys building sandcastles and digging for buried puzzles with Roland's assistance. Perched on a rock, I smile as Hershel uncovers what he believes to be a dinosaur fossil. He presents it to Roland for inspection...

" _Do you see this, son? It's an engraving detailing one of the Azran's greatest inventions...!"_

_I follow my father's excited gaze to the complicated picture embedded in the stone. Secretly, I've got no clue what the diagram means, but I peer at it in fascination, not wanting to disappoint him. "Wow..."_

_I hear my mother let out a weary sigh as she reaches the cliff top. "Alright, Leon, let's give it a rest for a minute so we can eat our lunch." She puts the picnic basket down and turns to my six-year-old brother as he pats a sculpture of a bird (possibly dating back to prehistoric times)._

" _Ha, ha! He's got a funny beak!"_

" _Yes, he has, hasn't he?" My mother laughs, sharing out sandwiches between everyone._

_This is a common weekend-routine for our family; we drive to some obscure area, investigate a bunch of ruins and have a picnic. It can get pretty boring at times, but it's an important part of my father's job._

_And as long as we're all together, I don't really mind. You have to be willing to make sacrifices for knowledge... Well, that's what my father always says, anyway._

"Desmond?" I'm shaken from my memories by Mrs Layton. She hands me a white polystyrene cup of tea brought from the promenade. "You look..." _Lost. "_...cold."

I mutter a thank you and accept the warm drink. After a minute of uncertainty, she sits beside me on the rock. We watch as Hershel and Roland begin to play with Hershel's new orange Frisbee. Two worriers, the pair of us. But she's more fussed about Hershel tripping over his shoelaces than Targent showing up...

Then, there's an attack.

A lean black Labrador leaps through the air and catches the Frisbee between its teeth, much to Hershel's surprise. The Labrador stands with the Frisbee in its mouth, tail wagging, begging to be chased. Roland can't help chuckling at the canine's antics, but Mrs Layton surges to her feet and warns Hershel not to touch the dog— it could be a stray.

But the Labrador's owner isn't far behind him. I turn my head, grinning when a bearded man with a Scottish accent whistles and calls, "Drop it, Ness!"

Ness the Labrador obediently drops the Frisbee as Raymond jogs over, apologising for her behaviour. Roland insists that there's no harm done and Hershel asks if he can stroke the dog.

Raymond assures us that Ness won't bite— mostly for Mrs Layton's sake— but she does lick. Hershel laughs as he's nearly licked to death by Ness.

I join my brother, sending Raymond curious glances. (When did he get a pet dog?) However, Raymond pays me little attention so not to raise our surrogate parents' suspicions. He explains how Ness was a rescue dog from a military group. She was fully trained but mistreated by her previous master. While Hershel and I continue to play with Ness, Raymond and the Laytons talk for ages, as grownups do.

Coincidently enough, Mr Raymond's just moved in right across the road from us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Last Spectre Prologue, Emmy reckons Layton's star sign is Capricorn, meaning his birthday could be somewhere between Dec 22- Jan 19.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hershel is 9, Desmond is 13._

* * *

Things have become a lot more settled now that Raymond lives close by.

Roland and Lucille wonder why I show so much interest in our curious neighbour, but at the same time they seem relieved that I'm finally calmer.

Whenever I visit Raymond, my excuse is that I want to ask if I can walk Ness. Of course, Hershel often wishes to accompany me, which interrupts my discussions with Raymond.

Like today, I've allowed Hershel to take Ness up and down the road where I can see him— no further— while Raymond and I talk.

Raymond's house reflects him to a tea, simple yet sophisticated. Rather than photos or family heirlooms covering the mantelpiece, there are glass cases containing insects. (He told me he collected bugs in his youth— it definitely beats Uncle Doug's hobby of fishing.) A few model airplanes are strung from the ceiling and the odd painting of a landscape adorns the otherwise bare walls.

I sit on Raymond's brown settee as he offers me a plate of biscuits, which I refuse. As usual, I ask if he knows of any new developments with Targent. Raymond answers that the agency continues to raid our old house in the village, probably scrounging for more of my father's research on the Azran and other valuable items. (I'm glad I saved that one family photo.)

Once Raymond recounted how he visited the house while Targent were still inside, but thankfully he avoided them. He even managed to free one of the sniffer dogs those thieves had brought... Apparently, Ness was in a terrible state until he saved her. As if Targent weren't bad enough, now they're cruel to animals too!

"There's still been no word on Leon or Rachel Bronev," Raymond informs me dolefully. "But on the bright side, Targent doesn't seem to be any wiser of you and your brother's whereabouts."

I take an automatic look out the window before nodding to him. "That's good news, but we can't take any chances... You're stronger than you look, aren't you, Raymond? Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to get past Targent. Could you teach me how to fight?"

"To _fight?"_ Raymond coughs incredulously. "I'm not that fit, lad! All I know is some self-defence methods and the art of evasion."

"Then you're practically a _ninja._ You can show me how to defend myself and Hershel. Please! We never know when Targent could strike..."

With this foreboding statement, I glance out the window again. My eyes widen. Across the road stands a woman I don't recognise. She is talking to Hershel. Raymond also notices, but I'm out the door before he can compose me.

By the time I rush over to Hershel's side, the lady wearing a pointy hat is already walking away and Hershel is waving after her. Ness barks upon my arrival, but I ignore her. My sibling turns to me with an innocent smile.

"Hi, Des..." Hershel's smile fades when he meets my enraged frown.

I hiss, "Who was _that_?"

"I'm not sure... She just stopped me to say hello and—"

I seize his shoulders and shake him and snarl at him, "Did you consider for a _single moment_ that you were talking to a complete and utter _stranger_? Why didn't you come straight back inside? You're meant to be _smarter_ than this, Hershel!"

Hershel gasps, "A-all she did was give me a _puzzle_ —"

"A _puzzle?_ What if she was trying to _distract you_? You're lucky she snatch you off the street! I don't want you speaking to anyone we don't know ever again. Understand?"

Hershel gives me a shaky nod and I let him go. He isn't so keen on puzzles after that.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hershel is 10, Desmond is 14._

* * *

When Hershel turns ten, he decides that he would like to learn how to play... the piano. Roland and Lucille are so thrilled with the idea that they sign him up for lessons immediately. Me, too. Every Saturday at nine o'clock.

On the morning of our first lesson, I oversleep. This isn't a mishap on my behalf; I purposely stayed up late last night studying in the hopes that I'd have an excuse to skip our lesson.

Hershel rises at eight o'clock, 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' as Lucille puts it. He attempts to rouse me, but all I offer is a sluggish grunt before he shrugs and heads downstairs. I hear Lucille pottering about in the kitchen and Roland bidding my brother, "Morning, son. Fancy helping me with this crossword puzzle...?" (Per usual, Hershel declines.)

No one seems to acknowledge my absence. _Victory is mine!_ For fifteen blissful minutes I bask in bed... until the door flies open and my surrogate mother flings the blanket off me.

"Time to get up, Desmond."

I curl into a fetal position, glaring at her with half-lidded eyes. _"Nggghhh..."_ is my sleep deprived defiance.

"Come on now. Hershel has already had breakfast." (That _little goody two-shoes!_ ) "You don't want to be late for your first piano lesson, do you?"

"Why do _I_ need to go?" I groan.

"We've been through this," Lucille reminds me. "Learning to play an instrument is a wonderful opportunity. You can't waste the whole day brooding in your bedroom—" She adds when I open my mouth to speak, "— _or_ visiting Mr Raymond. Besides, Hershel would be so disappointed if you didn't join him now..." With a begrudging huff, I drag myself out of bed.

My eyes are bloodshot, making them appear redder than ever, and my hair is bedraggled, but Hershel and I reach our new teacher's house on time. Miss Reed lives a bus ride away from us in a richer area of London. (Not that the Laytons are poor— they're just content staying where they are.) She is a quiet-spoken slender young woman with blonde hair.

In Miss Reed's cream-coloured living room, Hershel and I sit on either of her at the grand piano.

It takes all of my effort not to doze off as she introduces us to the musical notes, the differences between the white keys and the black keys, whatever the heck chords are... She demonstrates a basic C major scale using one hand and asks Hershel to copy her. With tentative fingers, Hershel slowly repeats the scale. He looks at Miss Reed, biting his lip.

"That's brilliant, Hershel!" Miss Reed claps her hands together, turning to me next. "Do you want to try it, Desmond?"

Shrugging, I read the musical notes written above the piano to help us. They seem to blur out of focus no matter how hard I squint. Oh, well. _Here goes nothing..._ I play the scale, but my finger positions are clumsy and the notes I produce sound horribly off-key. (It resembles the din a dying cat makes.)

Miss Reed smiles patiently. "You nearly had it. How about another go?"

Again, I attempt it with a similar result. And again. _And again_. Why do I keep _failing_ to overcome this simple task? My hands slam against the piano in frustration. "Why?" I grumble. " _Why_ can't I do it?"

Hershel sends me a sympathetic look, but Miss Reed insists, "You just need to practice, that's all." Passion fills her voice with volume, but not the commanding kind. She says earnestly, "Making music isn't all about sounding perfect. Why do you think people enjoy music so much?"

"Because it brings performers fame and fortune," I supply in a mutter.

"That's one reason..."

"It's nice to listen to?" Hershel pipes up.

Miss Reed nods. "It is nice to listen to..." She plays a slow flowing melody on the piano. "Like when you are feeling stressed, it can help you relax. Or..." Her melody becomes quick and upbeat; Hershel grins. "It can make you smile."

I state the obvious. "So it affects people's moods." _Big deal._

Miss Reed must detect my disdain because she turns to the piano again and begins to play a song with both hands. The melody is undeniably pretty, even to me; it rises and falls like the drift of an ocean wave, gentle and serene. I get lost in the music, allowing myself to forget about my mistakes, losses and fears for that moment... When the song ends, both Hershel and I are watching Miss Reed in awe.

She asks, "Do you know what that song is called?"

I shake my head. "I've never heard it in my life."

Hershel wonders, "Is it... _A Song of the Sea_?" He points to the music book on the stand in front of the piano. Only now as I peer closer do I realise that there is indeed a piece titled, _A Song of the Sea._

"Oh, I didn't notice that..." I admit, embarrassed.

"It's not your fault, Desmond," Miss Reed assures me. "I think you might just need to have your eyes tested."


	8. Chapter 8

_Hershel is 12, Desmond is 16._

* * *

Like me, Hershel has developed a habit for reading... or perhaps an _addiction_ is a better way of describing it.

He mainly enjoys fantasy stories at this age, whereas I've grown to prefer nonfiction and accept the harsh facts of life. Dreams don't exist, insignificant little things that they are. There is no running from the real world, and that's that.

Soon our bedroom is filled to the brim with books. This, combined with my homemade inventions cluttering the floor and Hershel hiding used tea cups under his bed, is nearly enough to give Lucille a heart attack. ("Goodness gracious, you boys could _trip_ , or be _crushed_ by a stack of books, or _TRIP!"_ )

To ease her worries, we stop buying new books, instead making regular trips to the library.

During our latest visit, Hershel takes ages to choose an author. Dickens, Doyle or Christie— _how ever will he decide?_ (I could write a novel by the time he's done.)

I have my own textbooks to find, so I arrange to meet him in thirty minutes besides the stone lions guarding the entrance. Hershel knows his way around the library and I don't think much harm can befall him in this sanctuary of books.

(I should have thought.)

I get out before Hershel and lean against one of the magnificent lion's paws, tapping my fingers on my sleeve. I'm not wary, just impatient.

(I should have been more wary.)

It's not a shout. Not a threat. Just the simple address of my former name:

"Hershel Bronev."

My body goes rigid. My fists clench. My pulse is pounding. But I don't turn to the speaker, don't dare acknowledge that name.

"I know it's you, Hershel. You have your father's eyes."

No point in pretending, then. Every part of me is screaming to run inside, find my brother and rush home to alert Raymond. But Targent have already identified me. What if they've infiltrated the Layton household? Maybe they don't know that Hershel is here. I could surrender myself and give him a chance to escape. Yelling won't help if there are more of them in the vicinity— Hershel might hear me and come outside.

_And this man knows of my father..._

Slowly, I look at the blue-uniformed agent standing before me: A youngish man with unruly blonde hair, his eyes concealed by Targent's signature black glasses. However, what draws my attention most is the scar that splits his face. It makes him appear all the more inhuman, like Frankenstein.

"Where is my father?" I demand. "And my mother?"

He sounds almost sorry— that's what unsettles me— when he states, "It's my regret to inform you that your birth mother, Rachel has passed away.

No. No no _no_. "You're _lying!"_ I snarl. Of course he is. He _has_ to be. But why have Targent sought us out only now? Hershel and I have been with the Laytons for nearly five years. Unless... unless... I can't bear to believe it, but if my mother is dead, my father must be grief-stricken, refusing to meet Targent's demands. The agency wants to use Hershel and me as leverage over him.

Then it's true. Mum's gone. Without so much as a goodbye. I bet Hershel can't even remember what she looks like... _looked like._ The ignorance of _not knowing_ what happened to her was painful, but this hurts a million times more.

Shoulders shaking, my breath hitching, I turn away so the blonde agent can't see my hot tears, my _weakness._ "How _...?"_ I gasp. Was she _tortured_? _Killed_ as soon as she couldn't provide the information they wanted?

"The stress from her kidnapping, I believe," the agent answers. "It was too much for her. Though, she was allowed to die peacefully at a Targent medical base." I stiffen when I feel his hand grip my arm. "Are you aware of your father's work on an ancient race called the Azran?" he asks quietly, with reverence.

 _Focus._ Hershel and I are still in danger. For now, I must shove my bereavement aside, lock it in a box deep inside me. I feign indifference. "No..."

"The Azran possessed technology beyond our wildest dreams. They had the ability to cure fatal illnesses, prolong life... perhaps even restore the dead. Imagine it! Your father discovered remnants of their race, but he is reluctant to share his knowledge with us. That's why I ask that you and your brother come with us. Help us convince your father that if found, the Azran Legacy will benefit the entire world."

Just as I thought— they need Hershel and I. I'm silent for a moment, as if I'm mulling over the agent's proposal. Filling my voice with childish hope, I wonder, "C-could the Azran really... _restore the dead_?"

"That's one theory. But we won't know for certain without your father's cooperation," he says, hasty now. "You'll be able to say farewell to your adoptive parents, but be prepared to leave by tomorrow. A Targent escort will arrive to collect you and your brother. Alright?" (I force myself to nod in agreement.) "Good boy." With that, he leaves me, speaking into some kind of communication device as he stalks off. I have no doubts that he's assigned some Targent troops to keep an eye on us.

When Hershel finally exits the library, up to his arms in books, I marvel at how much he resembles our mother. Chestnut-coloured hair, round face, bright eyes. Apart from a single picture, he's the only piece of her I have left. The only _family_ I have left.

No...We have Raymond now, and the Laytons, and Ness. Please, please let them all be _safe_.

"What's wrong?" Hershel's question interrupts my troubled reverie. He's noticed how pale I am and the tear tracks on my cheeks. Really, I should tell him that Targent have returned... But he's still just a child. He can't cope with the nightmares again.

"Nothing," I assure him, taking half of his books and grabbing his hand. "But we need to go home, right now."

As we hurry back to the bungalow, I'm aware that Targent spies are probably tailing us and they'll notice if we appear panicked. When we're outside the bungalow I warn Hershel to pack his bags. (That shouldn't look too suspicious; the scar-faced agent told us to be ready, after all.) Once he's in, I "go to say goodbye" to our neighbour.

Raymond's already holding his door open for me to dash inside (thankfully Ness doesn't start barking) and I frantically explain what happened. He spotted a few agents skulking around our street earlier, so he informed Roland and Lucille.

I exclaim, "You _told_ them about Targent? How am I ever going to explain this to them?"

"Easy, Desmond..." Raymond hushes me. "I just said there are some shady characters hanging around..." He glances out the window to check said-shady characters aren't watching.

"We need a plan," I say, pacing. "They'll be expecting Hershel and me to go with them tomorrow and if we don't..." The scar-faced agent hadn't aired what would happen if we _don't_ comply, but his implication was clear as crystal. There is no comprising with Targent. "They can't take us, not after... not after what they did to her. I can't lose Hershel as well..."

As if she senses my distress, Ness whines and nuzzles my hand. Meanwhile, Raymond rubs my back, muttering sentiments as I bite back a sob. There isn't time for mourning, only for action.

My voice hard, I recall, "Roland has relatives living in a town outside of London— Stansbury, I think it's called." (Uncle Doug's gossip actually came in handy— that's a first.) "If we can convince Roland and Lucille to take Hershel there, we can stay and throw Targent off their scent."

Raymond scoffs, " _As if_ Roland and Lucille would leave you here with an old Scottish man. You're going with them— make sure they get there safely. I'll stay here and take care of Targent."

"I am _not_ leaving you again. You can't face them alone—"

"I'm not alone. I have Ness." The dog seconds this with a determined bark.

"Keep it down, Ness," I sigh, kneeling down stroke her head and stare into her brown eyes. "Listen, you dopey Labrador. I need you to look after Raymond for me. He's... he's my best friend. I don't want to see so much as a scratch on him. Understand?" Ness cocks her head to the side. I'm sure she gets the gist of my message.

"You'd better get packing," Raymond says. (Is that a tear in the corner of his eye?) "I'll hold them off as long as I can."


	9. Chapter 9

_Hershel is 12, Desmond is 16._

* * *

Stansbury— have you ever heard of it? I highly doubt it, unless you're an archaeologist or a country bumpkin. Apart from the Norwell Wall discovered years ago, there's little to attract outsiders to the rustic village (which is fortunate for us, provided Targent show no interest in said-wall).

Truly, it's as tedious here as Uncle Doug's tales implied. I shouldn't be complaining too much, though. Tedious suggests _secure_ , and Doug has kindly allowed us to stay at his house.

Roland received an abrupt phone call from Doug before we left London, inviting the 'whole Layton gang' to join him in Stansbury. (My impressions work _may_ have had something to do with it.) How speechless Doug and Dana were when the four of us arrived on their doorstep. I had to remind them that Doug was always insisting that we visit. _It must've slipped his mind!_

However, Lucille and Roland aren't so oblivious. They were aware of the 'shady characters' monitoring us back in London and how tense I was.

I'm still tense. Whatever Raymond did, we managed to escape the city without Targent's interference. But it's been weeks now with no word from Raymond. He's more than capable of looking after himself and he's been absent for lengthy periods in the past... 

And yet, I need to know he's all right, need his sagely advice, need the stability he always summons within me.

My mother's demise remains very fresh in my mind and it has me on edge. Previously, Targent was just a distant threat to Hershel and I, like a bad dream. But now they're definitely out to hunt, apprehend and hurt us. Perhaps even kill.

After a month in Stansbury, Roland and Lucille decide we've outstayed our welcome. That's when I snap.

"What? _We can't leave yet!"_

Despite my protests, Roland continues packing the clothes his wife has assigned to him. (All four of us have been sleeping in the guest bedroom.)

Roland sighs, "I know you like it here, Desmond. I do as well. The local archaeology lore is quite intriguing... But we can't impose on Doug and Dana any longer. We do have our own house and lives back in London—"

"We _can't_ go back to London! We're better off here. Please... Pa, you need to trust me!"

Before I can devise a plan for Hershel and I to run away from our adoptive parents, Roland concedes softly, "...All right. I'll discuss it with your mother."

I can barely contain my relief. "Thank you!"

I'm about to exit the room, when he adds, "You don't want to forget this, son." He hands me the faded Bronev family photo; I'd left it lying under my pillow.

Gratefully, I take it from him. "I won't." _Ever._

Uncle Doug is delighted when Roland pitches the idea of us living in Stansbury, but he's also eager for us to clear out of his house.

As luck would have it, an old fishing buddy of Doug's recently moved away from Stansbury, vacating a quaint cottage beside the river... fittingly called Riverside Cottage.

At first, Lucille is reluctant to reside in Stansbury— mainly because the majority of our belongings were left in London— but the instant she sees the cottage, she falls in love. (It helps that the whole village adores her cooking and she gets multiple requests whenever she visits the market.) The day we move in, she immediately sets to work making the place look spotless yet homely.

Hershel just takes the move in his stride, as usual. If he has any concerns regarding the 'shady characters', he doesn't voice them to me, and thankfully his nightmares don't reoccur. I'll hear him shouting if they do.

We're sharing a bedroom again. While it's bigger than our previous room, that doesn't prevent us from having the odd argument over space or possessions or Hershel _spilling tea on my blueprints..._! (My preteen brother is placid, not perfect.)

The two of us are due to start at St Vernon's in a few more weeks, so we hit the market for some school supplies and maybe a haircut for Hershel. After receiving several orders for Lucille's tasty dishes and being bugged by that chatterbox Lionel, we eventually reach the bookshop.

While perusing the books, a notice catches my eye. The residents often display news for community events or adverts in the window. But this is a _puzzle_ of all things, scrawled on a piece of paper and taped to the glass. It appears to be a map accompanied by a coded message. I take a minute to work out where the map leads and decipher the letters:

' _EYE BROWS'_

Hershel arches an eyebrow when he sees what's caught my attention. "Is that a puzzle—? _W-wait, Desmond!_ Where are you _going?"_

Out of the shop I run, through the market, barging past a blonde boy carrying some groceries. (Hershel's shouts fade behind me. I assume he's stopped to help the boy.)

_He's here, he's alive, and he's here!_

At the Memory Knoll, I see Raymond leaning heavily against the central oak tree. Usually, he'd be more inconspicuous, but I don't care about that right now.

Raymond offers me a weary smile when I charge up to hill to meet him. "You got my puzzle, then?"

"You made it!" I pant, swatting his hand away when he frets over my simple fatigue. _He_ 's the one with scrapes, bruises and dark bags under his eyes.

"What happened with Targent? How did you escape...? Actually, never mind that at the moment. Let's get you to the doctor's..."

He's got a bad limp, so I heft his arm over my shoulder and help him hobble to the village, ignoring his insistence that he'll be fine. (Raymond has some medical knowledge; he must know that his injuries do _not_ look 'fine'.)

I can't believe he staggered all the way into town earlier just to leave that puzzle for me! Why didn't he send Ness with the note...? That's when I realize the Labrador is missing and Raymond hasn't mentioned her once.

I stop, whispering, "Raymond... Where's Ness?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Hershel is 12, Desmond is 17._

* * *

I'm unable to visit Raymond as much as I would like when school begins. Stansbury's doctor's surgery is meagre, but Raymond is on the mend, his leg wrapped in a cast. Whenever I inquire about his injuries or Targent or Ness, he just advises me to focus on my studies, namely science. (I think he wants me to become a doctor...)

Raymond's impairment has made me realize that he can't always be there to protect us. He taught me a thing or two about disabling an attacker, but I must hone my skills. It wouldn't hurt for Hershel to have some training either, in case something was to happen to me.

On my way out of St Vernon's theatre (I _wasn't_ performing—my mechanics knowledge was simply required to fix the stage lighting!), I spot a poster for a fencing club on the gymnasium door. I go to grab Hershel from the library, where he spends most of his time, and show him the poster.

"What do you think?"

My brother's brow furrows. "Fencing. _Really_ , _Desmond?_ Is this one of your terrible jokes? _"_

"My jokes happen to be terribly _witty_ ," I retort, pushing my glasses up my nose. "Seriously, though, I think this could be a brilliant opportunity—" Suddenly, I'm interrupted by somebody whining:

"...Come on! You _need_ to teach me! What if I got stuck in a swordfight during a perilous adventure? I could be up against pirates. _Pirates!"_

"For the last time, this isn't a childish game. I'm _not_ going to train you!"

"Oh, no..." Hershel mutters. He sends a wary glance over his shoulder. Surging towards us is a tall girl with her hair in two dark plaits. She is followed by a pining ginger-haired boy who appears to be Hershel's age.

I hiss, "What's wrong?"

"That's Randall Ascot, a boy in my class who I've been trying to avoid. I answered _one_ question about archaeology and now he won't stop pestering me. He's obsessed with the subject..!" (I'm starting to understand why Hershel was hiding in the library.) Hershel looks like he wants to flee, but Randall recognises him and waves.

"Hi, Hershel!"

"Hello, Randall..." Hershel barely suppresses a sigh.

The older girl asks him flatly, "Is he bothering you, too?"

Randall isn't deterred. He turns to me. "Who's the guy with the cool glasses?"

I shoot Hershel a warning look. _Don't you dare give this imbecile my name or our address...!_

"This is my brother, Desmond." _Betrayed by my own flesh and blood._

"Nice to meet you, Desmond!" Randall notices me noticing the poster. "Hey, are you guys interested in fencing?" Before I can deny this, Randall throws his arms over our shoulders, grinning triumphantly at the girl. "There you go! _Three_ new members for you to train. Now the fencing club can stay open even when you're gone."

She argues, "You can't just sign people up on the spot. Fencing is dangerous business. _I'll_ decide who joins after the tryouts."

There is no arrogance in her tone, only matter-of-fact bluntness. Does she doubt that I can handle a little swordplay? My irritation immediately switches from Randall to this girl. "And what authority do _you_ possess?"

Randall informs us in a stage whisper, "Behold, Her Highness, Mira Sharpace, reigning champion of the fencing team." He smirks. "But not for long, if I have anything to do with it."

"We'll see about that." Mira marches into the gym. "If any of you are serious about joining, be here tomorrow morning at eight."

"But tomorrow's _Saturday_!" Randall protests. His only response is Mira slamming the door.

* * *

Myself, Hershel and, yes, even _Randall Ascot_ are deemed worthy of joining the fencing club. We're the only ones who show up for the tryouts, so it's not like Mira has much of a choice...

But that doesn't matter right now.

At the Memory Knoll, I stand beside Raymond, discharged from the doctor's only yesterday.

The burbling river, the birdcall and the breeze create a soft symphony fit for a church choir. Beneath the oak tree, tree of treasured memories, sits a grave without a name or a body. It isn't fancy— just a slab of light grey stone from the riverbank engraved with the words: ' _In Loving Memory.'_

"She would have liked it out here," Raymond mumbles, "with all the open fields. Probably would have kept the whole village up with her barking."

I hum in agreement. On the subject of what-would-have-been, I can't help imagining the quiet life Raymond would have had if he hadn't aided my brother and I. Or the life the Bronev family would have had if they hadn't gotten involved with Targent... But then we never would have gotten to know Raymond or the Laytons. Our lives intertwine like spider webs, impossible to unravel.

Raymond adjusts his hold on his crutches, looking around. "Wasn't Hershel coming...?"

I told Hershel that Ness died defending Raymond from 'burglars'. (Raymond hasn't even told me the whole story yet.) Hershel deserves to say goodbye to her, too. So, _where is he?_ He's never late...

The answer becomes clear when Hershel rushes up the slope, accompanied by Randall Ascot and a petite blonde-haired girl. Hershel has been consorting with Ascot since we joined the fencing club. I glare at them—questioning and furious— but manage to repress my temper for now.

Hershel explains softly, "They wanted to attend."

Ascot looks like he might regret this tag along decision, but the girl steps forward earnestly, clutching a blue flower.

"Hello, my name is Angela Redoll. I'm sorry for your loss."

Raymond nods and Angela places the flower on the grave. She returns to Ascot's side and squeezes his hand.

"Hersh... told us a bit about Ness," he adds awkwardly. "It sounds like she was a true friend." (I'm almost impressed by the dignity he displays.)

"She was—" Raymond is cut off _yet again_ when someone else troops up the hill.

"Dalston?" Randall stares at the stocky red-faced boy. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Heard there was a funeral for a dog." Dalston shrugs, hands jammed in his pockets.

We wait in silence until it's evident there will be no further interruptions. Then, Raymond clears his throat. "A wise man once said, we forge our own destiny. Ness was testament to this. She was trained for violence, yet she proved to be a loving companion and a loyal protector..."

As we honour Ness, a vision of my mother fills my mind. I bid her farwell, hoping she is in a happier place. Still, I'm unable to lay her memory to rest completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sycamore tree seeds ripen in September- October, so I figured Desmond's birthday could be some time in the autumn.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hershel is 14, Desmond is 18._

* * *

I despise snow. Here is a list of reasons why:

 **1.** The heavy snow makes a toilsome trek to Stansbury's inn where Raymond resides these days.

 **2.** In this weather the post doesn't get delivered. Before she left for her sports scholarship, Mira ordered that I keep her updated on the progress of the fencing club. Mira finds Ascot insufferable and Hershel is rather scared of her, so I'm the only member capable of the correspondence. (Besides, she is one of the few who can match me in wit...)

 **3.** It's the middle of February and some of us are preparing for final exams. Much to Ma and Pas' shock, I currently don't intend on going to university while Targent remain at large. But I'd at least like to _get into school_ to have that opportunity in future.

Hershel should use this time off to study, but as soon as he sees the frosty windowsill and the frozen river, he rushes outside. For all of his composure, my adolescent brother becomes a little boy again at the mere sight of snow...

" _Wheeeee~!" Me and my brother squeal as we go shooting down the hill._

_I've never seen so much snow— the outside of our house looks like something out of a fairytale. Like 'The Snow Queen' or 'Jack Frost'. They had to close my school today because no one can get inside, but I don't mind. Dad got this old sledge out of the garden shed for us!_

_At the top, Mum yelps, "Hold on tight, you two!" I grip my brother's waist tighter, but we barely hear her._

_The wind whistles in my ears and makes my eyes water. I can't see. We're going faster and faster and faster..._

_Dad's waiting at the bottom to catch us. We're going to crash into him...!_

_SPLAT!_

I jump as something white splats against the bedroom window. Fury envelopes my surprise. I surge to my feet and fling open the window. A second snowball flies through, hitting me in the face. I wipe my glasses, my blood boiling hot enough to melt the slush, and glare at the culprit.

"Hey, Des!"

"ASCOT!" I thunder. The ginger pest stands below the window, armed with snowballs. Hershel, Angela and Henry— the Ascot family's servant boy— are beside him, wearing winter coats and wary expressions. (Good. They _should_ be frightened for Ascot's sake.)

Ascot hollers, "Come out and play with us!"

"I haven't got time for your childish games!"

"You sound like Mira Sharpace..." Ascot purses his lips. "Are you busy writing her _love letters_?"

"Of course not," I scoff when the four of them start sniggering. How immature.

Ascot persists, "Then if you're not busy, you can play with us."

"Come on, Desmond," Hershel adjoins, his words muffled by his scarf.

Angela giggles, "Have some fun!"

"I _am_ having fun. Without you _hooligans_ bothering me." Before I can slam the window, another snowball meets my face.

"That one was _Hershel!"_ Ascot shouts.

 _That does it._ I vow, "YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!"

Ten minutes later, I storm out of the cottage bundled up like an Eskimo. (Ma insisted in case I catch a cold.) No matter; this will serve as my armour. I scoop up some snow, crunching away from the safety of the garden fence. "Are you a coward, Ascot? _Show yourself!"_

Then... an ambush. I'm pelted with snowballs from four different sides. My vision is obscured by snow. I collapse, dazed and defeated by a couple of fourteen-year-olds. Briefly, I hear Hershel wondering if I'm alright, but Randall convinces him to leg it while I'm still out for the count...

"Get up."

Hands haul me out of the snow. I scrub my glasses clean to find Alphonse Dalston leering over me.

I demand, "Did Ascot send you to finish me off?"

"You think I'm working for _Bratscot?_ As if!" Dalston dusts snow off his jacket. "I was just on my way back from the market when that brat chucked a load of snowballs at me. Looks like he got you, too."

"Only because he was heavily armed and had backup." I scowl. "He's turned my own brother against me."

"Same with Angela— he's a bad influence... Want to team up and beat Bratscot?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Our unlikely alliance set, we resolve to recruit Raymond before cutting Ascot and his posse off in the older part of the market. With my brains, Dalston's brawn and Raymond's... forbearance, we'll be unbeatable. But it helps to have an army of snowmen (and one _snowdog_ built by Dalston) blocking the path out of the market.

How does one bait an Ascot? By using a _puzzle_ , of course! Hershel and the others appear reluctant, but the ginger pest can't resist coming to investigate the snowmen, falling right into our trap.

"Think fast, Bratscot!" Dalston pops up behind a snowman to throw a snowball.

Ascot gasps, but manages to dodge it. "You're going to have to do better than that, Dalston."

Raymond and I also reveal ourselves. I sneer, "How does three on four sound?"

" _Three on four_... Yeah, we can take you." Randall smirks, turning to his team. "Right, guys? Guys...?"

Hershel and Angela have already started running. Henry is the only one to remain at Ascot's side. Dalston knocks the servant boy over with a decapitated snowman head.

 _"No, Henry...!"_ Ascot protests, reaching for him.

Henry wheezes, "Go on without me, Master Randall."

Ascot doesn't need to be told twice. He always boasts that he's a fast sprinter, and it seems to be true as he bolts away from us, avoiding my shots. I cry, "Don't let him get away!"

Then, Raymond fires a single snowball that soars through the air, straight and true. It smacks Ascot right on the head just as he reaches the edge of the old market.

He slumps to the ground with a groan. "Okay, you win..."

Dalston punches the air in victory. I laugh at Raymond as he offers Henry a hand up. "Who knew you had such good aim?"


	12. Chapter 12

_Hershel is 17, Desmond is 22._

* * *

"I win again, Hershel—"

"You mean _I_ win, per usual," I interrupt, placing my épée gainst the wall. I'm always the champion when it comes to our fencing bouts. My opponents insist it's because I'm the eldest, but they know I'm the most skilled of the three of us.

Ascot asserts, "Yeah, but I still beat _Hershel..._ " The ginger pest completely turns his back on me to grin at my brother. _"_ As I was saying, Hersh— it looks like you'll be coming home with me tonight. I _was_ going to invite Desmond as well, but now I don't think I will."

I snort, "I could care less about your trivial treasure hunts, Ascot."

"Me too," Hershel agrees, minus my contempt. "I'm not interested in archaeology."

"Stop with the nonsense, Hershel...!"

"Well, you two enjoy your little get-together." I sling my rucksack over my shoulder. "I'll be doing more important things."

"Like _what?"_ Ascot shouts as I stride out of the gym. I ignore him, though I actually don't have an answer.

Since I finished school without applying for university, fencing is now one of my few pastimes, along with calling on Raymond, building inventions, occasionally helping in St Vernon's science lab... and reading about archaeology.

Yes, despite all the chaos it's caused the Bronev family, like _taboo_ , I've been drawn to the subject. It's quite hard to avoid when ones lives in a town with a history of archaeology that's filled with archaeology fanatics such as Randall Ascot (and even _Pa_ , to some degree).

Good lord, I hope Ascot never discovers my interest in the field. Hershel knows my secret, but he won't tell. He's indifferent to archaeology, as much as Ascot harasses him...

After bumping into Dalston in the foyer— we discuss the unbearable Bratscot and my audacious lack of life-plans— I head home.

"Roland?"

"It's me, Ma," I answer as I enter the cottage, following her anxious voice to the kitchen. I grab a glass of grape juice (much to Hershel's displeasure, Ma buys it more often than orange) and see her hopping around in alarm. This is a common occurrence in our household, so I'm not too concerned...

"Oh, Desmond," Ma gasps. "Thank goodness you're back—"

"Calm down. What's wrong?"

She all but hyperventilates, "Your father's in trouble. Around midday, some strange men in dark suits came to the door. They were demanding to see you and Hershel."

The glass slips from my hand. Even with my reflexes, I'm not fast enough to catch it before it cracks. Like my composure.

_They've found us._

I surge forward to grab her shoulders. "Where did they go? _Where did they take Pa?"_

A yelp. "Desmond, please let go! You're hurting me!" Giving her a hasty apology, I release her and she reveals shakily, "Y-your father said they were old acquaintances of his. He just went off with them without saying where they were going. He's been gone ever since—"

"I'll find Pa," I promise, tearing back outside. "Wait here. Lock the doors. If Hershel comes home, tell him to _stay inside_."

"Do be careful!" she calls after me.

Targent are the ones who should tread carefully. There will be no mercy for them if Pa is harmed in any way. Like my birth parents, Pa possesses knowledge in archaeology. Like my birth parents, he could be of use to them... I won't let him end up like my birth parents.

As I veer past St Vernon's once more, I consider checking on Hershel, but he should be safe at school for now. Pa is currently at greater risk.

On Pebble Lane, I'm as grateful as ever to find Raymond outside the inn. I interrupt his conversation with an elderly woman called Gloria... or is her name _Esther_? (I could care less.)

As soon as we're out of Gloria/Esther's earshot, he asks, "What's up?" He pales when I explain that Targent are in town and they've taken Pa somewhere. He checks, "And... you didn't see them, did you?"

I shake my head. "I have no idea how many of them are here."

"You and Hershel can't chance being seen. It'd be safer if you went home while I search for Roland."

"Because that worked out _so well_ the last time I left you," I snap impatiently. By the time I realise what I've said, the damage is already done. His face falls. I amend, "Raymond... I'm sorry, but we don't have time to argue. Tell me, how did you evade Targent when we escaped from London? We can use the same tactics to defeat them again."

"When Targent burst into my house, demanding to know where the Layton family had gotten to?" Raymond musters a sombre smile. "I tried to inform them... _but_ _they cooldnae understand a ramblin' auld Scotsman like me, especially wi' th' din mah dug was makin'_."

It's the most he's ever spoken about the matter, and how he can convey it with a shot of humour amazes me. "I see... Let's go find Pa, then. Together."

Raymond suggests we start at the market. When there's no sign of Targent or Pa, I reason that they might have headed into Stansbury Forest. We stop by the fence surrounding the edge of the woods, noticing the gate is open. This adds further weight to my suspicions.

Raymond wonders, "Do you think they've gone in there?"

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if Targent were interested in the Norwell Wall," I reply. Tourists rarely visit the wall these days. But a group insanely obsessed with archaeology? Very likely.

The pair of us sneaks into the woods, passing a battered sign post that appears to have been knocked over. Spotting fresh footprints, we stray from the path to avoid the detection of any lookouts.

Up ahead— voices. It's Pa's, along with someone else's I recognise...

Raymond grasps my arm and puts his finger to his lip. _Keep quiet or we're dead._ We watch from the concealment of the bushes...

Pa appears unscathed, albeit anxious. He stands before the Norwell Wall, talking to a group of five men in dark blue suits and shaded glasses— definitely Targent.

A familiar scar-faced agent runs his hand along the wall's glyphs. "Magnificent... A language as advanced as our own; produced by an ancient civilisation..."

 _An ancient civilisation?_ I exchange a glance with Raymond. He can only mean that the Azran created the wall, as I've theorised in the past. That's why Targent are after the wall's secrets. (It seems my birth father couldn't give them all the answers, after all.)

Scar-face turns to Pa. "Do you know what this inscription means?"

"I'm afraid not..." Pa shakes his head. "All sorts of scholars and researchers have sought to decipher the wall. None have been successful yet. Though, it's thought to be a map of some sort..."

"I see," says Scar-face. "Well, thank you for leading us here. We'll be checking in at the village inn, so if you come across anymore useful information, please share it with us... or send your sons. We're eager to hear from such bright boys."

 _I'm sure you are._ I resist the urge to sneer. Raymond and I remain hidden until Targent leave the forest. A bird warily calls through the trees. 

"I should follow them back to the inn," Raymond whispers. "What if they search the rooms or question the inn keeper? They could discover my identity..."

As much as I would prefer having him beside me, that's a valid point. I nod grudgingly. "Be vigilant."

Shadowing Pa, the two of us creep to the forest edge— still cautious, _always_ cautious— and we separate.

Pa jumps when I catch up to him outside the gate, just as Hershel joins us. (I should have guessed Ma would send him too.)

Pa insists that he's known the men for years; they simply wanted to visit the Norwell Wall and see how the 'Layton brothers' had grown up.

I need to question Pa about his connection with these 'suspicious men', but can I discuss Targent in front of Hershel?

He's nearly an adult. For his own good, perhaps it's time he knew the full story of the organisation that endangers our lives. Yet...Every time I look at my younger brother, I still see a little boy, plagued by nightmares but blissfully untainted by the cruelty of the world.

If he remembers Targent, his nightmares will become reality. He will become like me. To not warn him may be illogical... But I can't lose my bright-eyed brother as I have lost myself.

* * *

When we get home, much to Ma's relief, I seriously contemplate bombarding my stubborn brother about the ultimate terror that is Targent. (Bright-eyed innocence be damned.) Hershel is still dead set on going to Ascot's house after dinner, despite the fact that there are suspicious men out hunting for us.

I could always knock Hershel unconscious and lock him in the cupboard...

"You worry more than Ma. All we're going to do is sit in Randall's room and talk," Hershel assures me as I pour through our bookshelf.

"Yes, but do you realize how _dark_ it is outside? If you must go, I'd rather escort you there..." I huff as I encounter another hidden puzzle, chucking it on the floor. I'll throttle Ascot for meddling with my belongings and brainwashing Hershel into recklessness. I finally locate the book I want and yank it off the shelf, humming.

"Desmond, you don't need to protect me every minute of the day," Hershel mutters. Then he notices the book I'm reading— a copy of Donald Rutledge's _'Ancient Histories'_ that I may or may not have stolen from school. There's a smile in Hershel's voice. "Unless... You're actually curious about what Randall has found. Is that it? Honestly, even I'm kind of excited. Randall's cocksure he's got hold of some legendary artefact. Come to think of it, he and Dalston were arguing over some old, indecipherable map the other day..."

I glance at him sharply. "What _map?"_

Triumphant, Hershel points at me. "I knew it— you _are_ curious. Randall claimed the map led him to something called the Mask of Chaos..."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Of _course_ Ascot stumbled upon the Azran treasure Targent must be after. Not only has the idiot placed his own life in jeopardy, but he's made Hershel an accomplice. Now I have no choice but to accompany Hershel to Ascot Manor. Perhaps I should relieve Ascot of the mask...

"Boys? Boooooys? Dinner's ready!"

...Right after dinner.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hershel is 17, Desmond is 22._

* * *

Thus far, I've had a fair share of regrets in my life. But this... this may be my greatest regret of all. Targent has driven me to do the unthinkable.

Me, Hershel and Angela— who we bumped into on the way here— stand before Ascot Manor. As I have the best aim (courtesy of Raymond's tutelage), Hershel asks me to send the 'signal'. I throw a rock at the third-storey window. Harder than necessary. The bell rings with enough force to rouse the entire household.

A light flicks on and Ascot's silhouette appears in the window. As we climb the wall of ivy into his bedroom, Ascot gives a whispered yell, "Hershel! Are you trying to _break my window_ — oh, Desmond's here." (It takes all of my willpower to not wipe that smug smirk off his face.) "You couldn't resist coming, after all."

I shrug. "I'm just here with Hershel."

"Of course you are."

Embarrassedly, my brother cuts into our budding argument. "So, um, what's this thing you were dying to tell us about?"

"Yes," Angela agrees, "don't you want to show us something?"

"Patience, patience, my friends... and Desmond." Ascot saunters over to a drawer at a deliberately slow pace and pulls something out. Holding the item to his face, he turns to reveal a grinning golden mask. To my dismay, it does indeed appear authentic.

Hershel asks, "Is that...?"

" _The Mask of Chaos,"_ Ascot and I utter together.

The ginger pest raises an eyebrow at me. "I thought you weren't interested?"

"I wasn't... until you put the mask on. It's a major improvement to your face."

" _Puh-lease!_ If anyone should be wearing a mask here, it's _you_ —"

Once again, Hershel must interrupt, "Is that the _real_ Mask of Chaos, Randall?"

"The one and only! The artefact Donald Rutledge wrote about in his _'Ancient Histories'._ I've found it at last."

"That's... a fake, right?" Angela doesn't sound convinced. "It has to be."

Fake or not, I need to get it away from Ascot. If Targent hear the Mask of Chaos is in the hands of teenage boy, no one close to him will be safe.

Ascot returns the mask to his drawer and starts ranting about the unbelievable myth behind it; how it grants the holder anything he desires and will lead him to the lost treasure of an ancient civilisation. (Both options would benefit Targent nicely.) I ponder how I might steal the mask without alerting the others' suspicions. Should I distract Ascot with something shiny...? Never mind, he's already gawking over his illegible scribbles on the wall. (And people say _my_ handwriting is atrocious...)

"Take a look at this... Behold!"

While he shows Hershel and Angela what he claims to be the solved riddle of Norwell, I slink to the drawer and reach inside...

"Come with me, my friends— and Des— to the Norwell Wall!"

Shoving past me, Ascot dives in and grabs the mask once more.

Hershel protests as Ascot heads for the window. "Wait, what? You want to go there right now?"

"Shhh! Quiet, Hersh! Let's just slip out quickly." That's all it takes to persuade Hershel and Angela.

With Targent's presence in the forest earlier, I fear we may encounter them again. But arguing with Ascot is literally like talking to a brick wall. Even when I suggest he and I go alone, leaving Hershel and Angela behind, he disagrees, insisting we're all in this together. I grudgingly join them, if only to ward off Targent and take the mask.

However, as we're inspecting the Norwell Wall, Angela beats me to it.

"Randy, you're a complete... _idiot!_ I've had enough!"

In a strop over Ascot's safety, Angela runs off with the mask. (Stupid girl, that's exactly what I was _trying_ to do!) If her dramatic exit doesn't catch Targent's attention, then Ascot's endless calling for her will. We pursue her through Pebble Lane, but I skid to a halt when I hear:

"Come on, you must be in the same school with at least one of them..."

"Maybe, maybe not. What's it to you?"

"I'm going to ask you once more... What do you know about the Layton brothers?"

"I'm going to _tell_ you once more— _it's none of your business_."

An interrogation. Hershel and Ascot have already hurried ahead, but I spare a glance behind. A Targent grunt has Dalston cornered like a caged animal. Though Dalston's tone is aloof, his tense posture speaks volumes. He's alone and he needs help. (Raymond's aiming lessons better not fail me now...)

Raising his fist, the grunt growls, "I've had enough of your cheek, boy—!" Suddenly, a pebble collides with the base of his skull. _"Who threw that?"_ The grunt whirls (Dalston _better_ escape after this) to see me darting down the lane, back towards the market. "You think that's _funny_? Get back here!"

Let's be fair, I could handle _one_ measly Targent agent. I could handle an entire Targent _army_... perhaps if it wasn't so dark and I wasn't unarmed.

I grunt as someone slams me against a wall, my head smashing into stone hard enough to dent my glasses. My vision may be distorted, but I put up an admirable struggle. I'm just able to make out the second grunt's smile as he recognises me.

_Target located._

The first grunt has caught up to us, panting. "You got him!"

His associate jerks my chin up. "Isn't this one of the ones we're looking for...? What's your name?" I don't realize he's talking to me until he shakes me. _"Your name."_

_I don't want you speaking to strangers._

My mouth tastes of blood. I spit at him. His hand whips across my face. "You are seriously going to regret that..."

There's a sluggish groan. Not from me, but the first Targent grunt. My captor also releases a groan before slumping against me, unconscious. I peer at them, repulsed and confused. (Maybe I don't know my own strength...)

"Are you alright?" It's Raymond, of course. He rushes to support me, inspecting my probably bloodied face.

"Thanks... Your timing couldn't be better," I mutter, hating how thin my voice sounds. _Weak_. I muster a glare at my two lifeless attackers. "Are they...?"

Raymond shakes his head. "Just out cold." He points to the back of his neck, explaining, "Vulcan nerve pinch. Only to be used in emergencies."

At last, I feel a familiar surge of relief. My wise guardian would never dream of killing anyone, not even Targent. "You have _got_ to teach me that."

"Where's Hershel?"

... _And_ the paranoia returns. "He went after Angela with Ascot. I need to catch up to them—"

"More like we need to see to your injuries," Raymond says.

"I'm fine, stop fussing!" Fuming, I fix my glasses. "Ascot may have found the artefact Targent are here for!"

"...Very well, but we should at least take care of these two before they're seen." Raymond nudges one Targent grunt with his good foot.

As we lug them behind the local bar (What better reason for their current state?), Raymond notes in a curious voice, "Dalston managed to get away."

"I didn't want him blabbering about me and Hershel, that's all." I shrug and we let the subject drop, along with the Targent grunts. Hopefully, they'll pass our run-in off as a drunken night out.

Raymond stays out of sight while keeping me within his sights as I hurry to find Hershel and his friends. The four of them ( _oh joy_ , Henry has joined the party) are gathered at the Memory Knoll. Angela seems to have calmed down and the mask is back in Ascot's hands.

"Henry, would you mind escorting Angela home?"

"Not at all..."

When I arrive, the teens' eyes widen, no doubt because of my battered appearance. Hershel gasps, "Where did you go—?"

"And what happened to your _face_?" Ascot adds. "You might want to invest in that mask we talked about."

I dismiss, "I saw Dalston and got into a fight." Often the best type of lie is a half-truth.

* * *

Back at Ascot Manor, now out of Angela's presence, Ascot has revealed further details about his foolish plan to travel to Akbadain, following the map engraved inside the mask.

While Ascot goes to grab some supplies, I hiss to Hershel, "We are _not_ going. It's too dangerous."

"You might not, but _I_ have to," Hershel insists, packing his own rucksack. "I promised Angela I'd look out for Randall. Remember?"

"So you would risk your life for Ascot?"

Like I risked my life, and our identities, for _Dalston?_ (I'm a hypocrite, so what?)

"Yes, I would."

My brother and I exchange a long look; bright black eyes meet blazing brown ones. Neither of us is willing to back down from this fight. Under Hershel's peaceful demeanour, he shares the same stubbornness as I.

With Targent's presence in Stansbury, it isn't exactly safe here at the moment... Perhaps if we had some leverage over the agency, like the fabled treasure of Akbadain, they would have no choice but to leave. We could beat Targent at their own game of manipulation.

"Alright," I sigh eventually. "I suppose I'll have to come to make sure you don't get yourselves killed. But if anything happens, _you_ can explain it to Ma and Pa."

When Ascot returns to the room, I say we'll see him tomorrow and bid him goodnight. Then I jab him in the back of the neck. Ascot groans and is instantly knocked out. (Henry flips his tea tray when he finds out what I've done.)


	14. Chapter 14

_Hershel is 17, Desmond is 22._

* * *

On no accounts can Raymond accompany us to Akbadain. Someone must stay in Stansbury to keep an eye on Ma and Pa, along with Targent. Besides, trekking through the ruins won't do wonders for Raymond's leg. This means Hershel and (unfortunately) Ascots' lives are in my hands...

...Though, the ginger pest's _blood_ will be on my hands if dares suggest another blasted puzzle. It's a tight squeeze in the cart as we trundle through the dessert, with me and Ascot on either side of Hershel. My brother is a human wedge between us.

To ease the awkward silence, Hershel wonders if Angela will be alright, as she was rather emotional during our departure. Ascot dismisses that she's always like that. Initially, Angela's overreaction did aggravate me, but now I glance at Ascot sharply. "Like _what?_ Could she be concerned because her brother _died_ in these very ruins you're determined to explore?"

"He didn't die—he _disappeared_ ," Ascot corrects me, frowning. "You don't even know the full story."

"I've heard enough from Hershel."

Hershel shifts uncomfortably. "So... Where is this Akbadain, anyway...?"

To the south of peaceful Stansbury lies Thornley's Gorge: A gaping maw filled with pointed stone teeth. When Hershel treads closer to the edge, I throw my hand out to halt him. Our talk about Angela's lost brother has me reconsidering this whole expedition.

Hershel peers into the depths. "How on earth do we get down there?"

"We don't." If we dare make the descent, we chance breaking our necks or being impaled. No treasure is worth that, even to overcome Targent. I turn to Ascot. "This is as far as we go."

"He's right, Randall..." (At least Hershel finally sees sense.) "You promised Angela we wouldn't do anything dangerous!"

"I know what I said... But what about _no risk, no glory_?" Ascot clenches his fist, unswayable. "This is the chance of a lifetime, and we must seize this opportunity while we have it!"

_You have to be willing to make sacrifices for knowledge._

He sounds just like _them..._

I shake my head, snarling at Ascot, "You really are _insane_ —"

"I'm not interested in talking anymore. I've worked so hard for this. You go back home if you must, Desmond. But Hershel, I'd rather you were there..."

I try aiming for his neck so Hershel and I can lug him home, intact but unconscious. However, Ascot avoids my jab. "Like I'd fall for that again." He turns and marches briskly towards the ruins.

"Fine, throw your life away! Just don't expect Hershel and I to do the same." I stomp straight back to the horse and cart. Hershel stands between us, conflicted. I call, "Leave him, Hershel!"

Hershel takes a deep breath and hefts his bag onto his shoulders. He can't actually be considering... Y _es,_ _he is._ Following his 'best friend', who so thoughtlessly leads him into danger. I don't resent Hershel for being loyal. I resent his loyalty to Ascot.

With a frustrated sigh, I look at Ascot's brown horse. Otis, I think his name is. I grumble, "I'm going to have to help them, aren't I?"

Otis whinnies and bobs his head.

"Can't I just drag Hershel back with the mask and leave Ascot there?"

A snort, followed by a reluctant neigh. I take it that Otis finds his young master exasperating, yet he knows it's his duty to protect Ascot.

"Alright, alright. I'll also save the ginger pest for you... if he hasn't already perished. But you owe me for this."

The horse nudges my hand with his nose thankfully... or perhaps he's just searching for oats. I smile for a minute, reminded of Ness. Then I cast a wary glance over the gorge. No time for reminiscing. I need to catch up with the boys.

* * *

By the time I reach the ruins, Hershel and Ascot have already passed through several chambers. I follow the freshly-dug holes in patches of soil amongst the sand coloured slabs (no doubt a product of Ascot's treasure hunting).

Perhaps if I wasn't dead set on finding them I could marvel at Akbadain and investigate what wonders hide within these ancient walls. While we were travelling, Ascot theorised that the Azran created this place. It's quite... beautiful here, I must say.

I wonder; had he gotten the chance, would our birth father have brought Hershel and I here—?

I'm jolted from my reverie by a scream.

" _Hershel!"_ Bellowing his name, I charge into a maze-like chamber. I see my younger brother, armed only with a shovel, cornered by two... _mummies?_ Bulky bandaged beasts wielding swords and metal claws.

Hershel stands stock-still— as do the mummies— until he hears me and turns. "Desmond? I can't move a single step or they'll get me!" He puts one foot forward and a mummy takes a swipe at him. "Go stand on the switch opposite Randall. He thinks that'll take out the mummies."

"What if I don't trust Ascot's judgement?" I argue, still eyeing the mummies. (If I make one wrong move, Hershel could be done for...)

"Then trust _me_!"

Teeth gritted, I tear my gaze away from him and rush down an unguarded passage, praying there are only two mummies. Ascot is standing safely at the top of a staircase on a blue switch. The idiot gives a surprised squawk when I shove past him and hit the switch on the other side of the room. There's a rumbling sound as the next door opens.

What has become of the mummies? And, more importantly, what has become of my brother...?

"You did it! The mummies fell through the floor!"

I sigh with relief when Hershel staggers up the stairs, smiling wearily. ( _If I hadn't trusted him, he might be..._ ) I take back my earlier thoughts. Akbadain is simply a beautiful _death-trap._

Together we approach the open door, where Ascot is waiting. He's laughing breathlessly, as if _he_ was the one to outrun the mummies.

"Wasn't that _exciting_? Des, the way you just _swooped in_ — talk about perfect timing!"

"There is nothing remotely funny about this," I tell him in an icy tone. "If I hadn't arrived when I did, Hershel would be _dead._ Because of you. _"_

"Okay, I'm sorry," Ascot says soberly. "But we all got through in one piece, didn't we? And it'll be even easier from here with the three of us."

Thankfully, it _is_ easier as we go floor by floor, overcoming obstacles and puzzles and more mummies. Much to Ascot's glee, we also encounter some artefacts and hint coins. (The Azran used them, apparently.) For all of his complaining about puzzles, Hershel gets sucked in to the spirit of adventure. I won't. _I refuse..._

...Alright, so _maybe_ I find our battle with the spinning-mummies rather exhilarating. But what swordsman _wouldn't_? I experience a fierce surge of joy as I stand back to back with my brother and my ally, blades drawn, hearts beating as one. With roars of defiance, we dismember our opponents. That alone isn't enough to defeat them, though.

"They just keep coming back!" I grunt as one of the remaining mummies slashes at me.

"Des, _duck!"_

In the heat of the moment, I obey Ascot's order. I dive to the floor and he stabs my attacker away. I remark, "Good show, Ascot."

He pouts. "Don't I get a _thank you_?"

"Don't push your luck."

Hershel is the one who outwits the mummies completely by adjusting the grooves in the floor. I smile at him proudly as the Azrans' mechanical guardians dance right into a pit.

Deeper, deeper we go. In one chamber, the path splits. As I investigate the left side with Ascot, a boulder comes crashing down, separating us from Hershel. I pound on the huge rock, demanding to know if he can hear me. Yes, he's fine, but the path is completely blocked. He'll have to go left in the hopes that our paths will reconnect later. For his sake and my own, I hope that's the case. I couldn't stand being trapped in here forever with—

Ascot mutters, "You should really have more faith in him."

I don't answer as we work our way through a seventh puzzle chamber. _I'm sick of boulders and blue crystals...!_

"Hersh isn't utterly helpless, you know," the brat persists.

"I— _Ngggh!—_ know!" I huff, attempting to heave a boulder aside. My brother isn't helpless; he's brilliant minded. Of course I know that, and so does Targent. They will go to great lengths to procure him. Therefore, I must go to even greater lengths to protect him.

"Are you even listening? You try to shield him from _everything_. He told me he finds it so stifling sometimes!"

"You're _lying."_ I glare at him. But I can tell from his angered expression that he isn't. I sigh, leaning against the boulder. "It's not like I have a choice. He's my _younger brother—_ "

"I get it," Ascot assures me, sincerely. "I feel the same way about Henry— I'd never let anything hurt him. But I want him to believe in himself, too."

"Enough. I see your point."

Having reached this truce, Ascot helps me shift the boulder.

I relax slightly when we spot Hershel (albeit, from a high ledge) but I don't worry so much the next time he heads off on his own. I believe in my brother.

* * *

On the eighth level, there's a change in the air. Is it the sense of accomplishment, or foreboding...?

The sound of running water trickles into our ears as we enter what could very well be the final chamber.

"We've made it! Look, there's the door!" Randall points out, hugging the Mask of Chaos. A ray of sunlight shines on the door. Like a pathway to paradise, a long flight of stairs awaits us. To reach it, we first need to cross a small lake of stepping stones.

This is a meagre challenge after what we've been through to get here. _Is this the best the Azran Civilisation could come up with?_ Half drunk on fatigue, I almost laugh. Too easy.

Randall goes first (obviously), followed by Hershel, and then me.

The minute we step on a stone in the middle, the full might of the Azran breaks loose. There's an earthquake. Rocks drop around us. The water begins to drain away.

"We're _sinking_!" Randall shouts.

I shove Hershel ahead of me. "GO!"

We spring from rock to rock— _D_ _on't you dare look back, Hershel!_ — the path crumbling at our heels. I haul Hershel up by his rucksack when he nearly trips. Both of us barely make the final jump. Then we're on our knees, safe on solid ground.

Hershel stands up and spins around. _"Randall!"_

Randall isn't so lucky. He leaps off the last rock, throws his hand out, _falls..._

...Till Hershel dives down to catch his hand, nearly slipping himself. I yelp and hold on to Hershel's back as our supposedly solid ground gives way. Gritting my teeth, I lift my head. Randall sways, hangs over the abyss, the Mask of Chaos in his grip...

In the panic of the moment, I'm hit with cold realisation. The three of us may survive this, but it will be for nought if we return home empty-handed. Without the treasure of Akbadain, or at least the key to it, we cannot bargain for our lives.

Hershel yells, "Just drop the mask—"

"No, _wait!"_ I protest. "Pass it to me, or chuck it up!"

"There's no time!" Hershel grinds out. "Desmond, grab his other hand! I can't hold on by myself...!"

Randall already seems to have given up. "I was so close... I'm sorry, Hershel— you, too, Desmond. I let you down. Tell Angela I'm sorry, and Henry—"

" _Give me the mask!"_

" _Give him your other hand!"_

"Take the mask. It's up to you two now. You must solve the last puzzle. Here..." Wincing, Randall lifts the mask and I reach for it. I'll just grab it, and then I'll save him...

But before I can do either, he slips out of Hershel's grasp.

The Mask of Chaos, our only bargaining tool against Targent, is consumed by the blackness. Along with Randall Ascot.


	15. Chapter 15

_Hershel is 17, Desmond is 22._

* * *

"RANDALL!"

Hershel's cry echoes on and on through the chasm like the voices of a thousand ghosts. The souls lost to Akbdain, perhaps. It seems Randall Ascot now lies amongst them. By all logic, the boy couldn't possibly have survived that fall _..._ But could the mask remain? I know it's despicable of me to hope for such a thing while my brother is beside me, bereaved of his best friend.

Hershel leans over the edge, staring into the pit with horror. He's still holding his trembling hand out.

I assure him, "It's not your fault, Hershel."

"Why?" he breathes. Then, he shoots me a look, his eyes glittering with tears and disillusionment at my actions. "Desmond, why didn't you save him?"

"The mask—"

"—Wasn't worth _his life!"_ Hershel snaps. Suddenly, he stands up, towering over me.

I also get to my feet, dust myself off and stare him down. "You don't understand—"

"I'm not ignorant!" Hershel bursts out. "You were intending to give the treasure to Pa's 'old friends' weren't you? The ones who were investigating the Norwell Wall!"

 _How long has he known..?_ I shake my head. No point in sugar-coating the danger anymore. He's already distraught. "Then you should know, those savages can't be reasoned with."

"We could have _tried_ , or thought of some other way out!" Hysteria chokes his voice. "Randall didn't have to... to be lost in the process!"

"Losing him was never part of my plan!"

"What _plan_? To sacrifice others for your own peace of mind? That's so selfish—"

I draw back my hand and it rushes through the air. But then my palm freezes just a few inches away from his face. Hershel doesn't flinch. Doesn't breathe. My open hand becomes a fist before dropping to my side.

I take a deep breath and apologise for almost hitting him. "I'm sorry, Hershel... But Randall knew the risks in coming here. There's nothing we can do now except try to fulfil his last wish."

Without another word to him, I ascend the mossy stairs. After some inspection, I decode final door puzzle and it slides open, to my surprise. (So much for the Mask of Chaos being the 'key'...)

I don't look at Hershel as he comes to my side. "The mask wasn't required after all." He doesn't sound smug, only desolate. When we enter the treasure chamber, he crumples to his knees.

For a minute, I can't help but stare in wonder at the mountain of antiques and gems and gold, gold, gold. The ancestral treasure of the Azran... It truly does exist. This is what Randall, and partly my birth father, sacrificed everything for. Using all of this, surely we could strike a deal with Targent—the fortune for our freedom.

But I can't take more than a few gold coins with Hershel's ashamed gaze on me. To him, it's an insult to Randall's memory.

I consider destroying the door puzzle so no one will have access to the treasure again. However, I think twice; what if its location is the only thing that can save us in future? Instead, I pick up both of our rucksacks and place a hand on Hershel's shoulder. "Let's go home."

* * *

There is nothing but silence between us on the journey back. I hold the reins while Hershel gazes at the passing landscape with heavy unseeing eyes. Otis seems to have lost his spirit, too. The stallion plods along until we reach the outskirts of Stansbury, where Raymond is waiting. His eyebrows rise in concern when the two of us alight from the cart, minus one comrade.

I shut my eyes and shake my head. _I'll explain later._ I just hand Raymond Otis's reins and mutter for him to return the horse and cart to Ascot Manor. Right now, I need to get Hershel home. My brother can barely walk, so I pull his arm over my shoulder and we traipse into town.

"It's Hershel and Desmond!" Hershel freezes as Angela rushes down to greet us, Henry behind her. She's smiling, clearly relieved and brimming with questions. "What happened? How did it go? Where's Randall...?" Neither of us answers. "Hershel, _where is he?_ Tell me what happened out there! Why aren't you with _Randall? WHY?"_

The girl has turned hysterical, trying to shake the truth out of Hershel. I shove her away from him. "Can't you see that he's _devastated?_ Doesn't _that_ answer your question?"

"NO...!"

"Angela, Randall... He's gone..." Hershel mumbles pathetically as I lead him past her sobbing form.

I add with brutal honesty, "He said to tell you both he was sorry for his recklessness. Angela, he was going to propose to you. And Henry, he believed in you like a brother." (At this, I hear Henry release a choked breath.)

Their distress is meagre compared to Ma's when I stumble into our cottage, half-carrying Hershel now.

She swoops us up, demanding to know why we weren't at Randall's house, where in the world we've been, what we were thinking disappearing like that, almost sobbing at the state of her youngest son.

Hershel is sent straight up to bed and a doctor is called. I can't escape that easily, though. After my minor scrapes and bruises are seen to, Ma and Pa sit me down at the table. As the older brother, I take full blame for being irresponsible.

And when the police arrive fresh from Ascot Manor, I'm going to take the blame for Randall's death, too.

* * *

There's no solid evidence to confirm that I did murder Randall (unless someone wants to scour Akbadain for a body), but that doesn't stop rumours from spreading. People can believe what they like. All I hope is that Targent buy that I was willing to kill for the treasure, which is apparently now in my possession. In case they have any doubts, I ask Raymond to leave them a sack of gold coins and a note at the inn:

' _If you ever want to see the Azran treasure of Akbadain, leave Stansbury.'_

They'll know the supposed murderer isn't playing games. Surely, they will follow me to the ends of the Earth for that treasure; never mind capturing Leon Bronev's two sons. I must become a fugitive, breaking the bonds that both cure and weaken me.

I certainly won't be going unarmed. Several days later, while I acquire my sword from St Vernon's gym (Mira would be disappointed to hear the fencing team has disbanded) a friend joins me for a brief farewell. Never one to follow the crowd, Alphonse Dalston disregards the rumours surrounding me as a load of tosh. He gives me a thumbs-up. "If you ever need a place to stay, you'll be welcome at my hotel... for a discount price, of course."

I smile. "I'll bear that in mind."

The Laytons know it's time when I get home. ( _Home..._ At what point did I come to accept it as that?)

Roland asks, "You're really leaving...?" Under his bushy beard, I detect a wistful expression.

I nod. "If I remain here, you and Hershel will be at risk from... shady characters."

Of course they can guess who I'm talking about, but Roland simply nods in return. He's never questioned my past with Targent, so I won't question his. Does this mean he and I never trusted one another enough? No— I've trusted him since the moment he welcomed me into his family. Apart from Raymond, Roland Layton... _Pa_ is the wisest man I know.

Next, my adoptive mother steps forward, presenting me with a new red rucksack. This isn't the bag I planned to take, but my old one is in tatters after our expedition, anyhow.

Ma sniffles, "I- I know you already packed, but I wanted to give you this... I put some of your favourite books in there, my trusty old compass, and a flask of tea in case you get c-cold..." Much to my astonishment, she catches me in a tearful hug. "Please, if you must go, be extra careful. We love you, Desmond, and we'll always be here for you. Don't forget that."

After some hesitation, I wind my arms around the earnest mother who I once shunned. Perhaps I don't deserve her care, but a mother's care is unconditional. "I won't," I promise. "Thank you... thank you both." _For giving Hershel a better life. For giving me a home. For everything._

Here comes the hardest goodbye. Hershel is in his room, asleep when I slip inside. (He's started screaming through the night about Randall and losing me and Targent all over again...)

It's easier this way.

I whisper, "Goodbye, Hershel... I honestly wish I could have spared you from all of this. If I'd left sooner, or not stayed at all, then maybe you wouldn't have suffered. I'm going now, but don't think for a single moment that I regret growing up with you. I know you'll get through this and go on to achieve great things. Ma and Pa will be proud— our birth parents would have been so proud..."

At this, I quietly dig the worn Bronev family photo out of a drawer. You can barely make out the picture's inhabitants anymore; the faceless father, the abstract mother and the two innocent brothers, now torn apart. I place it on top of the drawers, for Hershel to remember.

* * *

I'm bemused when I see a familiar brown horse beside Raymond on the edge of Stansbury.

" _Otis?_ What is he doing here, Raymond?"

Raymond strokes the stallion's neck. "The Ascot family no longer wanted the old lad, now that their son's gone..." Otis releases a dejected snort.

I cup my chin in my hand, smirking. "I suppose they won't care if we liberate him, then." For once, luck is shining in our favour. If Raymond rides Otis, he won't have to strain his leg on the road to... wherever we're headed. Right now, we just need to draw Targent as far away as possible.

I turn to gaze at the vast world beyond tiny Stansbury. "Where do I go from here?"

"You will find your way, Desmond," Raymond consoles me. "With Old Raymond as your constant companion..." Otis whinnies, determined not to be forgotten. "And with Otis as your mighty steed..."

"You're right, Raymond... Though, you'll be riding Otis."

"Now, now, this isn't the time to be _horsing_ around..."

Our struggle against Targent continues, but I won't let it dampen my spirit for adventure. I'll keep fighting, so Hershel can have a peaceful life.

I won't see my brother for the next ten years.


	16. Chapter 16

_Hershel is 18, Desmond is 22._

* * *

_A family of four huddles in their hallway. Someone knocks at their front door. The father stands his ground, staring at the door. The mother struggles to coax her two sons into the cupboard under the stairs._

_"Some people just want to talk to your father..." the mother murmurs. It's more than that, though; even the younger son can tell._

_The boy squeezes his eyes shut and turns away, but he won't leave his brother's arms. His big brother bravely faces the door like their father._

_When the knocking goes unanswered, it turns into pounding and shouting. The father whispers to the mother, "Did you hide the...?" He trails off when there's silence, fragile as the hope that stirs within the family._

Is it over? Are they gone—? 

_Then, the door is blown off its hinges._

_The younger son tries to block out the sound of heavy boots, the endless demands, the sinister threats..._

_The father roars that they can tear this house apart, brick by brick, but they will never find what they are searching for without him._

_So they refuse to leave, without him. Two of the intruders haul him outside. One grabs the mother. She screams for her children to run._

_The younger son whimpers as he is scooped by his brother. He yelps as he is thrown into the cupboard under the stairs. The door slams shut and he's locked in darkness._

_He reaches for his brother's hand, but gasps when he can't find him. His brother's still out there!_

"No, p-please! Leave us alone! Don't take my brother too...!"

_The boy flings himself at the cupboard door until finally, it flies open. He tumbles out of the cupboard—_

_—and into the last chamber of Akbadain, leaning out over the edge._

_But it's not his best friend he sees plummeting into the blackness. It's his brother._

Hershel Layton bolts up in bed with a gasp. _It was just a dream,_ he tells his galloping heart. _Just a dream..._

He can never remember the first part clearly, but the part about Randall... _was_ real. The memory settles over Hershel, nearly suffocating him.

Panting, he pushes his quilt aside and moves to the edge of his bed. It's time he talked to Desmond about this. Hershel has barely said a word to him since they left Akbadain...

Hershel gazes at the bed across from his, and it takes him a minute to process that Desmond's things are missing _._ His bedsheets, his rucksack, his glasses case, his toolkit, his latest stack of books...

The absence of these items could possibly be explained, but then Hershel notices the photo frame above their drawers.

 _"Ma!"_ Hershel shouts, stumbling out of bed. 

Ma races into their— his— room. "Hershel, are you alright? Did you have a nightmare—?"

"I...I'm fine," Hershel sighs with relief. (She would never sound this calm if Desmond had disappeared.) "Where's Desmond...?"

Ma isn't calm— she's _crushed._ She closes her eyes in resignation and murmurs, "I'm sorry, Hershel..."

Desmond is gone. 

* * *

I get a variety of contacts. Not only to improve my vision, but to conceal my eyes. I also cut my hair, which until now I would often leave in a loose ponytail. Ma was always harping on at me and Hershel to get our hair cut, anyway.

I shake my head, dispelling the memories. _Don't think about them_. It will only distract me when I need to keep an eye out for Targent.

With the desert far behind us, Raymond and I head north, venturing into towns solely when we require supplies. In our haste to abscond from Stansbury, we neglected to take the Ascots' cart along with Otis. There's only so much walking I can bare (I still prevent Raymond from putting pressure on his leg) and a cart of some sort would maintain the deception that we're smuggling Akbadain's treasure.

Fortunately enough, we encounter a farmer selling an old black carriage while passing through another countless hamlet. I propose we steal it. But Raymond oh-so honourably insists I use the remainder of my gold Azran coins. (Plus, solve a puzzle for the farmer.) Otis isn't pleased one bit about being fastened to the carriage. "Well," I tell him, "life is tough." He responds by spitting in my face.

Raymond and I are satisfied with this new compromise; Raymond drives the reins up front while I sit in the passenger compartment, studying a map. Leading Targent astray entails a lot of aimless travelling and the constant uncertainty of looking over one's shoulder. I would much prefer to have a firm destination in mind— something to strive for. Until now my goal, while wrought with obstacles, had been relatively simple: Guard Hershel and the Laytons— _stop thinking about them!_

...But then a spanner called Randall Ascot got thrown into the works, forcing me to adopt the life of a fugitive. I don't have the patience for any of this. That little nostalgic voice I want to strangle hisses, _Hershel would._

Our companionable silence is broken by my frustrated sigh. "Raymond, talk to me."

"About what?"

"Anything..." _So long as it stops my thoughts from straying to Hershel._ "Where were you born, perhaps?" I suddenly realize how little I know about his past... or maybe I just haven't bothered asking him about it before.

 _"Ireland,"_ the Scotsman jokes.

"I meant specifically."

He hesitates for a moment, his tone no longer humorous. "...A small village in the middle of Scotland..."

* * *

At last, we have a location in mind: _Belmare_ , the bucolic village where Raymond was apparently born. Situated near the Allan Water, it may be even more isolated than Stansbury.

As Otis trudges through the rustic land, Raymond explains that the village's history is somewhat similar to Stansbury's, with the younger inhabitants moving away over time. However, there's no immediate archaeological significance surrounding Belmare. (Thank goodness.) The largest site of archaeological relevance seems to be Stirling Castle, several miles south of here. I would care to visit the medieval remains... if we weren't trying to throw Targent off our trail. We need somewhere to lay low and plan our next move.

A nostalgic expression overtakes Raymond's face as we follow the narrow road into Belmare. He's _home._ I feel a small spike of jealousy, which I instantly quell. Raymond hasn't been home in years.

To be fair though, it doesn't look like _anything_ exciting has happened here in years. The streets are barren and there are barely any businesses, save for a sad little corner shop. (Even Stansbury has its lively marketplace...) I don't see any appeal for tourists. Then again, we are not tourists. It appears we recluses will be sleeping rough tonight, as usual...

But Raymond doesn't dismount until we reach a small house on the village outskirts. Raymond knocks once, twice, three times before someone answers the door. A pale blue eye peeks out at us.

"Who is it?"

Raymond begins, "Hello—", when he is cut off by a gasp.

 _"Ray?_ Is that you...?" The door opens wider and we are ushered inside. "Come in! Come in!"

I glance at Otis and cough, "What should we do about our horse—?"

"Bring him in, too!"

Otis happily obliges, ducking into the warmth after us. His nose lifts at the aroma of porridge oats.

Our eager host, a plump woman with a white scarf covering her grey hair, calls, "Bridie, you'll never guess who's here!"

Another woman of a similar age, though she is smaller and holding a cane, shuffles into the front room. Quite understandably, she stares at Otis. "Why is there a horse in my house?"

Her stare flits to Raymond when he introduces us.

"Desmond, meet Bridget and Jennifer Millar."

The one who invited us in shoots me a toothy grin. "Call me Jinny!" Jinny looks from me to Raymond. "Is he one of yours, Ray...?"

I quickly intervene, "No, I'm just a good friend."

"Any friend of Ray's is a friend of ours!"

From the frown on Bridget's face, it's clear she doesn't want to be 'friends'. "What are you doing here, Raymond?"

"We need somewhere to stay." Raymond adds, softly, "Please."

"You didn't answer my question," Bridget mutters.

"We just need a few days to rest and replenish our supplies," I cut-in smoothly.

"Of course you can!" Jinny turns to Bridget. I detect a slight edge to her voice now. "Right, Bridie...?"

Bridget hums, but grudgingly agrees, "...Three days, no more. And that horse stays in the garden shed."

After Jinny treats us to her homemade porridge for dinner (I finish my bowl under Bridget's steely gaze), I take Otis out to the shed in the overgrown garden. He's dissatisfied with the sleeping arrangements, but he got his share of oats, so he can't complain.

Returning to the house, I find Raymond sitting on the back doorstep with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. (My specialty is wines, but I believe he has whiskey.)

My voice low, I remark, "Well. Jinny seems nice enough. But that Bridget is a hoot."

He mumbles, "She just prefers their privacy."

"Is there any particular reason why she wasn't pleased to see you?" (That's putting it lightly.)

For a minute, silence is my only reply. I don't want to push the subject, but I am keen to learn more about him. Surely, he must have had a simpler life before he met me...

Raymond knocks back his beverage, eventually recalling, "Years ago... I was friends with their daughter, Gracie... Grace. I met her in the village when I was twelve. She'd hurt her arm climbing a tree, so I bandaged her up..."

I prompt, "Were you two ever...?"

"'Were we an item?' Is that what you young folk call it these days?" He chuckles. "I took quite a fancy to her, but she said it wouldn't work. I was leaving to study medicine while she... she went off to join some obsessed cult. She wanted to get out and discover the secrets of the world."

I scowl. "That sounds awfully familiar..."

Raymond either doesn't notice my deduction or he refuses to comment. He just takes another drink, admitting, "I think Bridget blames me for her leaving. If I'd stayed here, then maybe she would have, too."

"It wouldn't have made a difference if she joined Targent," I say. "They could have threatened her family, or you."

Sighing, Raymond shakes his head. "I doubt it. Nobody could sway Grace— she went on her own accord. She even sent letters home ordering us not to look for her."

My eyes widen. "Letters, you say?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if Jinny kept them—"

Quick as a flash, I burst into the house and demand that Jinny show me these horded letters. Bridget barks at me to calm down as her partner goes to retrieve a book from a shelf.

Hidden inside the book are several letters, paper creased with time. I hold one letter up to the light, cursing when I don't see an address. When Jinny gives me a concerned look, I ask if she also kept the envelopes the correspondence arrived in. To my satisfaction, she has.

Raymond raises an eyebrow as I study the back of an ancient stamped envelope. "Are you on to something, Desmond?"

"It appears these letters came from a coastal town in England." I hum. "Grace may have gone there when she was recruited for... this cult."

Bridget narrows her eyes at Raymond, no doubt angry that he dared to discuss her daughter with me. Raymond winces. "How can we be sure? Just because the letters came from there doesn't mean we'll find anything. It would be foolish to enter a random town..."

"But it's the only clue we have to go by!"

I'm tired of running. If Targent continue to pursue me as a foe, I may as well start acting like one. Following this letter, I could understand Targent's secrets and their ultimate aims. _Where did they begin? How did they evolve? What are they planning now?_ I need to know my enemy if I ever want defeat them. And mark my words: I _will_ defeat them.

Nothing will change my mind. I insist to Raymond, "We have to go."

Jinny begs, "Please, if you find Gracie... tell her to come home."

Bridget squeezes Jinny's hand in agreement. "Aye. And tell her she's in big trouble."

I nod; a promise. Too many families have suffered at Targent's hands.

I'm going to destroy my enemy from the inside... by joining Targent.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hershel is 21, Desmond is 25._

* * *

One might believe a paramilitary base would stick out like a sore thumb. Wrong. It takes three years to find and infiltrate Targent's training centre...

Firstly, our stay in Belmare is extended due to extreme snowfall. I share Bridget's antipathy for the winter weather. This makes it even harder to cover our tracks ( _no pun intended_ , says Raymond) when we finally depart from Scotland. Raymond doesn't want to leave any indicators that we ever associated with the Millars. Their daughter has already been lost to Targent. After the hospitality they showed us, we can save them from more heartbreak.

Once back in England, we must trace Grace's letter back to its origins, which is no simple task considering the letter is almost thirty years old. Even when we reach the seaside town, _Rooston_ , there isn't any clear sign of Targent facilities. However, the townspeople are strangely discreet when questioned. What's more, there appears to be an unusual amount of activity at the harbour...

 _Coincidence?_ I think not.

All we need is the right clue... And that clue comes in the form of a blue hoodie when I'm at a local convenience store. Disguised as a trivial tourist of sorts, I ask the shopkeeper for any recent news, but per usual, there's nothing extraordinary to report. Huffing, I go to buy a bottle of my favourite cologne. Then, I hear _this_ curious request:

"... And I'll have seven packets of Jammy Dodgers, please."

I raise my eyebrow at the customer before me. It isn't the gluttonous purchase that attracts my attention. It's the fact that this person— the voice suggests it's a young male— is wearing a blue hooded jumper and sunglasses, despite it being cloudy outside. He catches me staring and shrugs. _"What?_ Can't a guy eat?" Sleeves overflowing with junk food, he scampers outside. How odd.

Through my communicator (a wristband device I created whist travelling), I inform Raymond that I'm heading down to the harbour. Once there, I duck behind some shipping crates as I search for anything new that screams Targent.

I walk straight into Blue Hoodie Boy. He curses as he drops his food and his hood falls down, revealing short black hair. By the looks of it, he's a few years younger than Hershel. He picks up his snacks, making a face at me. "You again?"

"Unfortunately... Is this where the rats come to eat?"

"Uh, yeah, it's a private picnic spot." He perches on a crate and rips into a biscuit packet. He addresses me through a mouthful of crumbs. _"In-bitation oby."_

" _Invitation only_?" I translate. "And how does one gain an invitation? By being a member of an _exclusive organisation,_ perhaps _?_ "

He swallows and shifts, folding his arms defensively. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you _do—"_ I grab his arm and pull back his ridiculously long sleeve. Tattooed on his arm in black print is a description:

' **Trainee Number: 113**

**Name: Jun Duan**

**Centre: The Roost**

**Commander: Falcon'**

For a minute, I glare at the ugly marking. They're enlisting youths and branding them... like _cattle_? Horrified, I imagine if Hershel and I had been taken by Targent years ago, stripped of our identities and forced to work for them...

The Targent boy, Jun Duan, is stuttering now. "W-what do you want? I'm just a cadet, I swear!"

I release his arm, but I warn, "I know your Targent base... the _Roost_ is around here somewhere. I want access to it."

Frantically, Jun shakes his head. "I can't tell you. The Commander would kill me if anyone found out. I'm in enough trouble as it is..."

"Well, I'm sure my team will be even less impressed to hear about your detours into town." I hold up my own wrist, displaying my communicator. (Maybe he'll mistake me for a secret agent or something.)

This has the affect I hope for. Jun appears torn, but he eventually nods. "Okay... Okay, I'll show you how to get there— just don't tell _anyone_."

"Alright, then," I agree impatiently. "Lead the way."

"We need to wait for the boat..."

I contact Raymond to update him on these new developments (should anything go awry, he will be able to track me through my communicator) while I wait for Jun's signal:

"There it is!"

A green cargo boat has docked at the harbour. I've seen it here before, but never imagined there was anything off about it.

My grudging guide and I sneak aboard as some of the crates are being loaded on. Jun finishes his Jammy Dodgers as we stow away, offering one to me. I roll my eyes. How did this runt end up with Targent? At least he won't give me away, not unless he wants to condemn himself for deserting the agency.

It's no wonder we couldn't locate this base earlier. The 'Roost', as it's called, is on an island. Any bygone natural beauty has been stamped out to make way for Targent occupation. With the surrounding wire fence and watchtowers, it resembles a prison more than a training centre.

Guards with sniffer dogs patrol the front gate. To get past them and to cover our scent, Jun suggests we hide in a shipping crate filled with raw meat.

"It's for the dogs," Jun whispers as we feel our crate being lifted off the boat.

I cover my nose and mouth. "It's _revolting_..." I whip out my fresh cologne. Much better.

Jun grimaces. "Now it smells like a meaty fruitcake in here."

"As long as they can't detect us, I don't care—"

Someone shouts _"All clear!"_ and I hear the gate rattling open. Silently, we wait until our crate stops moving. After several minutes, I open the lid by a crack. There's no one around, but barks punctuate the air.

"We're behind the kennels..." Jun clambers out of the crate like a rodent emerging from its hole. I follow, spraying myself with more cologne.

Jun says, "So... Since I got you in here, I'm off the hook now, right...?"

"I suppose I shouldn't have any further need of you."

I expect him to clear off, but then he asks, earnestly, "Are you here to rescue the cadets?"

Honestly, I could care less about the spawn of Targent, the weakest of the weak. Their young minds must have already been poisoned with the agency's twisted ideals. However, I sense a note in June's voice... _hope._ Hope can be manipulated. If I could plant a seed of doubt in this one boy, what's to stop it from spreading?

My answer sounds neutral. "I'm here to gain an insight into Targent's foundations." _And send them crashing down._ "Once I grasp that, I'm going to change things for the better."

Though Jun appears pensive, he nods, resolved. "I want to help—"

Suddenly, a piercing bell echoes across the island, three times. I instantly become alert, glancing left and right. "That's just the signal for third period," Jun explains, not assuring me in the slightest. "I should have training now..." He grins. "And you might be able to join me."

Even with my disguise, I can't risk being seen by any Targent higher-ups. "You think I'm just going to waltz after you, in clear sight?"

"Would you rather wait _here_ for the guards to find you? Seriously, I have an idea! Like it or not, I'm helping you shut this place down."

* * *

The phrase 'hide in plain sight' has never been more appropriate. Jun's bright idea is for me to accompany him to his fencing class while wearing protective gear. This consists of black gloves, a blue jacket, breeches and most importantly, a mask. (Even if someone was to remove it, they would only see my current disguise.)

I'm surrounded by enemies. This is risky, so risky. Then again...I have been known to take risks.

I should be thankful we'll be practicing a sport I have prior experience in. The gymnasium also has shooting ranges for artillery and archery, gun assembly tests, climbing ropes, weight lifting benches, punching bags, and mats for martial arts and wrestling. It appears Targent teaches a variety of skills, old and new. With rigorous drilling, these recruits could be more competent than I expected...

A stone-faced instructor mans every station. Jun leads me to the fencing instructor, who is dressed in full gear along with the rest of the class. It almost suggests a level of equality between mentor and students.

The fencing instructor turns when we arrive, her black braid swinging behind her like a whip. We've interrupting a lunging demonstration. "You two are late."

"Sorry, Miss," Jun replies pathetically. "I was caught up at the dig site second period, and then I ran into this guy..." He points at me.

I add in a youngish voice, "He was helping me find my gear. I just got out of the shooting range—"

"Don't give me excuses," the instructor cuts in. "Just grab a weapon." She points her sabre towards the sword rack. Jun picks up a light foil while I settle for my old favourite— the épée. Holding it puts me a little at ease, even in the presence of Targent. But I won't be able to display my complete ability in fencing. I'm acting as an inept trainee, after all.

The instructor notices me inspecting my épée and announces, "Let's see what you're made of, rookie." She lunges at me. I barely parry her attack. (Really, it has nothing to do with me pretending to be weak.)

"Not as easy as it looks— is it?" she says between thrusts. "You don't have— a firearm— to protect you— now."

Her scorn makes me retort in kind. "I'm not— utterly— _helpless_."

Jun and the rest of the class watch, mesmerised as the instructor and I trade blows in a deadly dance that feels so familiar... To maintain my disguise, I must concede defeat. I'd rather that to letting her claim victory.

I drop my sword in surrender, but the instructor continues slashing at me until I'm backed against a wall. She skewers my jacket sleeve, pinning me to the wall. Then, she stares at me so intensely that I swear she can see through my mask, even through my disguise.

Mira Sharpace hisses, "What the hell are you doing here, Desmond Layton?"


	18. Chapter 18

_Hershel is 21, Desmond is 25._

* * *

"What the hell are you doing here, Desmond Layton?"

Mira, former head of the St Vernon's fencing team, is _here_ , of all places.

I fell out of contact with her years ago... but I never imagined she'd been taken in by Targent. I think back, trying to recall if she ever exhibited any Targent traits. Perhaps her family have a history with the agency, like mine? She never showed an outright interest in archaeology. (She found Randall Ascot intolerable.) Certainly, her ferocity, precision and fencing skills could appeal to Targent... but didn't she leave to attend university with a sports scholarship? Unless she actually took a one-way ticket to the Roost...

Even if this is the case, I can't spare her any sympathy right now because she recognises me. I attempt to delude her. "I... I don't know what you mean—"

"Cut the act! I never forget my students, or my _opponents."_ She's fuming, though her voice remains dangerously low. "Answer me— w _hy are you here?"_

I spit, "I could say the same to _you_..." I trail off. Mira's class, no— the entire gymnasium has gone silent. They must have heard every word of our conversation.

Nobody is looking in our direction, though. Cadets and instructors alike have all fixed their attention on the entrance, where a middle-aged woman with cropped white-blonde hair stands. Dressed in a crisp blue blazer, grey trousers, and high-heeled boots, she seems to be some sort of Targent official. But it's not her uniform that exerts authority. It's the way she holds her chin up, her gaze as piercing as the large bird's (a _peregrine falcon_ , I believe) that's perched on her shoulder.

The woman strides across the room, flanked by two Targent agents, towards the fencing class.

This is it. They've discovered me. What a foolish idea it was, coming here. I bet Jun (the little _sneak_ ) sold me out. And now Mira is going to hand me over to them.

But Mira breathes, "Don't move." She leaves me pinioned to the wall, partly concealed by the sword rack, as she steps in front of her class. She salutes to the other woman, her tone flat. "Commander Falcon."

"Sharpace." The commander nods tersely. I catch a faint accent in her voice, probably erased by years of service to Targent. "We have a problem on our hands. A glitch in the system, you could say."

This 'glitch' wants the wall to swallow him whole. Again, I expect Mira to turn me in. Mira simply hums.

Commander Falcon continues, louder for the cadets to hear, "There is a dissident amongst you. Someone who not only violated curfew and failed to attend multiple training sessions, but dared to abandon the Roost."

Mira frowns. "And you suspect one of my students is at fault?"

"I _know_ so." Falcon gives a tight-lipped smile. Suddenly, she calls, "Trainee Number: _113_."

Jun.

The rest of the class turn their heads to him in unison. Jun darts a desperate glance from Falcon, to Mira, to me. The boy waves his sword about and dodges when Falcon's goons approach him. He puts up an admirable struggle, even managing to stab them in some places, but it's two against one. He ends up backed in a corner, disarmed and doubling over from a punch to the gut.

Mira protests as they grab him, "Stop! Commander, this isn't necessary. He's _my_ student. It's only right that _I_ should deal with him—"

"No. You've grown too weak as of late," Falcon derides. (Mira balls her fists.) "I'll personally put this dissident in his place." On that dark note, the commander makes her exit. Jun is dragged out behind her by her lackeys.

The worst part is that most people just resume their training, as if nothing happened. Only Mira dismisses her class before marching me outside with her blade held pressed against my neck.

Mira shoves me inside the female locker room (it's unoccupied, mercifully), shuts the door and turns the showers on at full blast. I'll be disturbed if they have monitoring systems in here, but you can never be too careful...

Mira rips off both of our masks to glare me in the eye. "I saved your sorry ass, Layton. Now start talking. You show up and one of my students gets taken out. _Why?_ "

Isn't everyone in Targent aware that Leon Bronev's eldest son is wanted for 'stealing' the treasure of Akbadain? I must give myself too much credit.

I answer matter-of-factually, "Because Targent is an oppressive, malicious agency with no regard for anyone, not even its own trainees—" Her sword appears, mere inches from my throat. This calls for a half-truth. "...Aright. I met Jun at the harbour in Rooston. He hoped that I would rescue the cadets."

"That better be true." She holds my gaze until she withdraws the weapon. "I'm going to give you one chance to escape. Find Jun and get him off the island."

 _What?_ There's no way she's letting me go, just like that...

Suspiciously, I sneer, "If you're so concerned, why not just deliver me to the commander and save him yourself?"

"Believe me, I'm considering it," Mira snaps. "But I have people I need to protect. My family, my students... " She opens the door slightly and checks no one is eavesdropping outside. "Don't get caught," she mutters. "Go now. Free Jun."

"Or, you could help me free the cadets. _All_ of them." It's not my best solution, teaming up with a member of Targent who could betray me at any moment. I barely know her now. But it's clear that she values her students' lives, perhaps enough to turn her back on Targent. Besides, I could use an insiders' knowledge of this place. I add, "I promised Jun."

"How very _noble_ of you," Mira replies dryly. "But just how do you intend to get _one hundred and sixty-seven_ cadets off this island?"

"I have someone waiting on standby in Rooston. I'll contact him and he should be able to pick us up." (Raymond better know how to drive a boat...)

Even after my generous offer for freedom, she _still_ has doubts. "And what's in it for _you?_ "

"Preventing a new generation of Targent troops is good enough for me," I say with complete honesty. 

"They're just neglected kids who got picked up by Targent..." Mira murmurs. For an odd moment, her hand hovers over her stomach. Her scowl returns to me, however. "I still don't trust you."

"I don't trust you, either."

"Save Jun first, then meet me at the cadets' dorms tonight."

Is this a test of her trust, or a _trap?_ Surely, that would put all three of us at risk, since she was the one to authorise Jun's escape...

Mira Sharpace and I may be allies for now, but I won't let my guard down around her. I'm still cautious— _always_ cautious.

* * *

While we wait for nightfall, Mira returns to the gymnasium to 'gather some weapons' and I go to scope out the rest of the island. Unless the cadets want to _swim,_ the only way we'll be able to escape is from the docks. (And I doubt all of us will fit in shipping crates...)

I'll have to take down the watchmen at the docks, so that we can reach Raymond. I get in touch with him; somehow, he has managed to highjack a submarine that he thinks he can operate. (I learn something new about that man every single day.)

Mira believes Jun is being kept in a laboratory below Commander Falcon's headquarters. When it's dark, I creep around the perimeter of the building, combing for a way in besides the front door. I spy an open window on the second floor. That's careless of the commander... or maybe _not_.

As I enter through the window, I'm attacked by her screeching falcon. Grunting, I stumble around the room with the stupid bird clawing at my face. My back hits something sturdy. A cabinet. I spin around, whip open the doors, shove the falcon inside and lock the cabinet. It beats its wings and shrieks at me, silenced by the glass. I catch sight of my reflection; my disguise has been clawed to pieces. I sigh and glare at the falcon. I hope I don't encounter its owner, too.

After a quick cleanup of the room (I procure a report titled ' _In Search of the Azran Legacies'_ ), I explore the rest of the commanders' abode. On the bottom floor, I find an elevator with a fat guard lounging outside.

"Oi, you— _WAAAH!_ " Cue me swiftly kicking him in the head. As I lug him behind a corner, a walkie-talkie crackles from his belt:

" _What's going on up there, Bishop? Is the commander back from her meeting yet?"_

I try to imitate 'Bishop'. "Uh- yeah. She wants us to join her in the meeting room."

" _Are you_ sure _? She was pretty firm about us guarding this kid... I don't want to get demoted again—"_

My voice morphs to the cold tone of Commander Falcon. "You'll be demoted to toilet duty unless you follow my orders."

"What _? S-sorry, Sir! I mean,_ Ma'am! _I'll be there right away..."_

I hear the elevator opening and the speaker, a lanky Targent agent, charges out. I slip inside before the doors shut.

I emerge into what can only be the underground lab Mira described. There are white worktops covered with half-finished projects, gadgets and blueprints. Upon closer inspection, I see one plan to use a power source of dangerous proportions. It just needs to be tested...

I want to investigate these plans further, but then I notice a scrawny figure slumped in a chair.

"Jun?" I breathe, shaking him lightly. "Jun, wake up." He's pale, too pale... I untie his arms and check his wrist for a pulse. It's there, but weak. My eyes drift to the nearest worktop, where there are needle-syringes containing a clear substance _. Poison, perhaps_...?

I pocket the syringe before pulling Jun on to my back. I sigh when he finally stirs with a sniffle. _"Ugh..._ F-fruitcake? That you...?"

"Yes. I'm getting you out of here."

He shudders. "...Hurts, but I didn't... didn't tell them 'bout you..."

"Good— I mean, thanks." I shift underneath him and slowly head for the elevator. "Be quiet now. We're all going to escape."

"'Kay..." He zones out again. I feel his face rest against my shoulder.

If he dies, Mira will disembowel me.

* * *

Mira is seething when she sees the state of Jun. As we arranged, she's waiting for us outside the cadets' dormitories. However, only a small group of cadets accompany her, clutching swords. (Presumably, these are her fencing pupils.)

"None of the others wanted to come with us," a brown-skinned girl with a blue bandanna explains. "They're all too scared."

Growling, I kick down the door of the closest dormitory. Sitting on their bunk beds, the remaining cadets stare as I stomp inside and I lift up Jun's body like a ragdoll.

"Look, you little whelps! Unless you want to suffer the same fate as _him_ , I suggest you follow us!"

About thirty more cadets scramble outside. I doubt this will even make a dent in Targent's numbers... but it's something, at least.

"There's no time. We need to go," I tell Mira when she tries to coax a dark-haired girl, possibly the youngest here, out of the room. "You can't save all of them!"

The girl bats Mira's hand away. "Leave me alone! I want my uncle!"

Mira sighs and nods to me. "Let's go then. Those joining us, head to the docks! Those not, keep your mouths shut."

Before the alarm can even be raised, we disable the watchmen at the docks with poisoned needles. (That should give them a taste of their own medicine.)

I call Raymond. Less than five minutes later a black submarine rises from the sea. A hatch opens and Raymond's head pops out. "Ahoy there!"

Mira ushers the bewildered cadets along the boardwalk. One by one they start climbing inside the submarine. I've just passed Jun up to Mira, when Raymond shouts, " _Duck!"_

There's a screech and something drops from the sky, almost striking my head. Raymond grabs my hand before I can lose my balance and fall into the water. The infernal falcon wheels around to land on its master's shoulder.

"So, you're the ones responsible for this insignificant act of mutiny." Commander Falcon glides over the boardwalk. A pack of armed Targent agents rush past her to surround our submarine. Mira surfaces beside Raymond, glaring at her former commander. Falcon glares right back. "Sharpace. Why am I not surprised? You'll be condemned along with _these_ two–" She locks gazes with me, and then Raymond. But upon taking him in properly, her eyes widen in mild shock. She suddenly appears younger.

It's as if the rest of the world has disappeared, with just the two of them staring at each other.

Raising his voice, for only her to hear, Raymond says, "I remember years ago, I knew a young lass— a dreamer, an explorer. One day, she wanted to feel her head up in the clouds, so she climbed an old tree. But she climbed too high..."

"What's this guy blathering on about, Commander?" an agent demands.

"...Nothing," Falcon dismisses. Mira, Raymond and I stiffen, but to our relief, she orders, "Stand down. Let them go for now."

There are startled complaints from the Targent troops. Commander Falcon reiterates, "I said, STAND DOWN! Some of our finest trainees are on that submarine. We'll catch them when they return to the mainland." Before she can change her mind, Raymond hauls me into the submarine and we set off.

* * *

Once our band of renegades is safely out of Targent waters, Raymond switches the submarine to autopilot and comes to examine Jun, unconscious on the floor. Things aren't looking good; Raymond reckons the poison has been in his system for too long...

"We were too late," Mira snarls, stabbing her sword into the wall. (Hopefully, she won't puncture the submarine's interior.) The sudden movement leaves her rather weary. She leans panting against the wall with a hand on her abdomen. Raymond watches her in concern, but she brushes him off. "I'm fine! See to Jun." She goes to check on her other students.

As Raymond returns to Jun's side, I inquire, "The commander... She's Grace Millar, isn't she?"

Raymond shakes his head, sighing. "That's not Grace, not anymore."

"She let us go," I point out. I'm not defending her, but we wouldn't be here if it weren't for her decision.

He quickly changes the subject. "What about Miss Sharpace? She betrayed Targent on the flip of a dime, didn't she?"

"She was concerned for the cadets' sakes."

A hum. "That may not be the only reason..."

"What do you mean?" I demand, catching his thoughtful tone.

"You'll have to ask her yourself."

I roll my eyes, too drained for his cryptic messages or morals. "Alright."

When I confront her, Mira puts it _so_ eloquently: "Yes. I'm pregnant."

"With a _Targent agent?"_ I frown.

She bristles under my look of disgust. "It's not what you think. He loved me, and I loved him."

"What happened to him?"

"He died... in an airship explosion."

I'm not sorry for him. But I do trust Mira a bit more than I did before. "What do you intend to do once we've reunited these cadets with their families—?"

"Not all of them have families. We may have to give them new identities..." Mira shrugs. "After that... I'll get by, avoiding Targent. Maybe I'll live under a rock."

Ignoring her barb of dry humour, I persist, "What if you need to go into hospital when the baby is born? Targent could track you down..." Why am I so concerned about this? Is it because I can't stand to let another child be corrupted by Targent?

"You should stay with us," I declare. 

I'm as stunned by my proposal as Mira is. She snorts, "You can't be serious, Layton."

"My offer doesn't come without a price," I snap. "You would stay to aid us in Targent's defeat. From working with them, surely you possess knowledge that could lead to their downfall." (If she doesn't cooperate, I'm considering holding her captive, anyway. We can't have her running back to Targent with knowledge of my identity.) "...And when the time comes, Raymond can help you with the birth."

Mira scoffs, "I'll believe that when he helps Jun."

* * *

When our submarine makes landfall in Ireland, we emerge to find we've been followed, much to our horror. A familiar falcon soars overhead. Rather than throw her sword at the blasted bird, Mira says, "Look, its holding something..."

Indeed, there's a scroll and a glass vile in the falcon's talons. Raymond gingerly holds out his arm and the falcon descends, dropping the items into his hand. He quickly reads the note and studies the vile. "It's an antidote... and a note from Commander Falcon..."

"For _Jun_?" Mira exclaims, swiping the vile from him.

I frown at the vile. "That could be more poison for all we know."

"What other options do we have?" Her mind made up, Mira dashes away to give Jun the so-called antidote.

Raymond pets the falcon's beak and, after screeching at me, it takes off into the sunset. Raymond puts the note in his pocket. "Commander Falcon... _Grace_ sends her deepest apologises. She claims seeing me reminded her of Jinny and Bridget— she wants to visit them."

"Grace is going home, at last," I mutter, staring out at the horizon with him. "By the way, Raymond, where did you leave _Otis_?"


	19. Chapter 19

_Hershel is 21—27, Desmond is 25—31._

* * *

Despite growing up with a younger sibling, I've never really had the time or patience for children. Take Jun, for example. Technically, he is a teenager, but he has the tenacity of a child.

Having made a full recovery, he is determined to stay with us even after all of the other freed cadets have been safely relocated. My answer is an indisputable _"No."_

"Oh, _come on!"_ Jun whines. (I think I preferred it when he was almost dying.) "You said I could help you shut down Targent. There're still over a hundred cadets trapped _—_ and that's just at the Roost!"

The plan is for him to attend an Irish boarding school— under the alias _Dodger_ — while Raymond, Mira and I return to England. Stubbornly ( _stupidly),_ the boy refuses to comply. Why can't he be as docile as Hershel was? Then again, would my brother have been this obstinate if he had caught me sneaking away from Stansbury...?

"It's for your own good," I tell him, not looking up from reading _'In Search of the Azran Legacies'_. "We can't risk Targent capturing you again. You're a liability."

"What, you think _I'm_ a liability?" Jun points to Mira, stretching out on the bed of our Dublin hotel room, this week's hiding place. Her baby bump is truly beginning to show now, and her food cravings rival Jun's. "You're dragging a _pregnant lady_ around with you! No offence, Miss Sharpace."

"You know I could still batter you, Jun," Mira retorts. She adds, in a softer tone, "Look, this has nothing to do with how strong you are. I just don't want you getting hurt... or worse."

"I won't—"

I slam down my documents and snap, "You're not coming and that's final!"

Jun folds his arms. He may be scarred by Targent, but his spirit remains untouched. "Fine. Dump me at the nearest school. But one day, with or without you, I'll save those other kids."

He doesn't say another word to us before we part ways.

As you can see, I handled the situation _so_ delicately. For the greater good, I'm willing to liberate youngsters from Targent's grasp, but that's as far as my tolerance levels go. Overall, I'd prefer to distance myself from children.

* * *

But then, Anne is born. 

Unfortunately, she is named after a distant aunt, not the famous Irish pirate _Anne Bonny._ She has Mira's dark eyes, but her skin colour is slightly lighter and her hair is curlier. 

It's easy enough to snub her when she's a wailing infant. Sometimes I even question my decision to accompany Mira and her daughter. Really, what has she contributed thus far in our battle against Targent, besides sleepless nights and an abundance of diapers?

When I pose these complaints to Mira, she barks, " _You_ try being a single mother!"

Raymond is more than happy to help raise the child. However, there comes an occasion when I am left to babysit the three-year-old Anne.

At the time we're camping outside the Stone Circle of Pleynoth. In my tent, I sit at my desk, studying a list of artefacts excavated by the palaeontologist Doris Pompitious. Rumour has it that an Azran energy source was recently unearthed here...

Mira enters the tent to place Anne in my arms.

"What are you doing?" I demand. "I'm _working—"_

"I'm going out to grab us more food. Raymond's too busy cooking dinner. You only need to watch her for fifteen minutes." I glower between her and the girl, and Mira huffs, "Just read to her or something. As long as it doesn't involve any of your crazy machines."

The minute Mira leaves, I deposit Anne on the floor. "Sit still. Don't you dare disturb me." My orders fall on tiny deaf ears. Anne totters towards my desk, reaches up for a pen and starts scribbling over my list. "No, stop that!" I snatch the pen from her. Her eyes go very wide— at this age they lack Mira's piercing gleam– and I fear she may start crying.

"Don't cry," I command, though I lower my voice. Her crying could attract shady characters or worse, Mira. "If you're good, I'll read to you." Anne bobs her head eagerly.

So, I grudgingly fetch her one of my old favourite books _'Desmond and Descole'_. It's one of the few childhood possessions Ma packed that I've managed to hold on to. The enthralling tale of two warring brothers— one honourable hero vs. one tortured antihero— may be a tad mature for a toddler. But I can't be bothered to find another book. Besides, Anne seems satisfied with the story. She even spells out a few words.

"Des... Des..." She points from the page to me.

"Yes, my name is Desmond, too."

"No..." She shakes her head, giggling. I raise an eyebrow. (Her childish deduction actually holds some truth...) "You're Daddy!"

I turn my head from Anne. Mira won't like this. I don't think she has told Anne about her true father yet. While Mira and I no longer hate each others' guts— one could even go as far as to call us _friends—_ Mira makes it clear that we are not in any kind of relationship. Firmly, I reiterate, "It's _Desmond_."

" _Dessy!"_

"For the _last time_ —"

I'm interrupted by an explosion from somewhere outside. It rocks our entire campsite. I shove the whimpering Anne under my desk. When the shaking subsides, an apron-clad Raymond bursts into the tent.

"What was _that?"_ I breathe. I follow him out to see smoke billowing from the excavation site beyond our camp.

Anne peeks out from behind my leg. "Mummy?" she whispers fearfully.

"Where's Mira?" Raymond utters.

_She can't have been anywhere near that explosion. She would have no reason..._

I gasp when we see a dusty figure sprinting back towards the campsite. "There!"

Mira scoops up Anne, checks she is uninjured and declares, "Pack everything away. We're leaving."

"Targent?" I assume, quickly tidying my desk.

Mira nods. "A group of them were mining at the Stone Circle. I set off their explosives." (How could she just _blow up_ an ancient holy site?) "Looked like they were after these..." Mira tosses me a blue crystal the size of my fist. Perhaps this is the fabled Azran energy source...

No time to inspect it now. We need to move.

* * *

When Anne turns four, I give her a toy robot dog, a book filled with my own jokes, and a costume of her favourite character: _Jean Descole._ Raymond helped me make it, but Anne is thrilled nonetheless.

Forget frivolous princess dresses— Anne wears her mask, hat and cape with pride, proclaiming she'll beat those "Targent meanies". Admittedly, this does make me smirk a little.

"You kind of spoil her," Mira comments. She doesn't disapprove.

I shrug. The girl deserves to be spoilt. With all the travelling we do, it isn't everyday she gets nice things. Mira wants to make Anne's life seem as normal as possible, untainted by the lens of Targent.

We even provide her with a passable education, since it would be risky for Anne to attend a proper school at this young age. In my free time, I mainly teach her how to read and write, along with some science and maths. From Raymond, she learns about geography and history. As soon as Anne can hold a sword, Mira begins her fencing training... and her art lessons.

Much to my surprise, Mira used to paint prior to being enrolled into Targent. She insists that, like any other subject, art is important, often helping to channel people's emotions. This reminds me of a time when music was my escape. If only we could afford to piano for me to teach Anne how to play...

Anne rarely complains, though. She's content with our mismatched little... family. We live under the surname 'Sycamore', should anyone ask. Meet the Sycamores— a roving, seemingly rich family with their faithful butler, Raymond. I almost let myself believe it.

But no matter how much I grow to care for Anne, or how deeply I bury myself in my research, there's always a question burning in the back of my mind: _What became of the family I left behind?_

I receive my answer one day while reading the paper.

It's around Anne's sixth birthday. We're currently living at the farm where Otis was sold to. (He's settled down with a family of his own now— a nice mare and two foals.)

Anne has become adept at solving crossword puzzles lately. She sits in my lap. We've just completed the puzzles in the Saturday Cryptic. I rifle through the news pages until an article catches my eye...

' **Man left for dead on London street!'**

The man's name is Hershel Layton.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hershel is 27, Desmond is 31._

* * *

I'm going to London, right now. I explain the situation to Raymond and Mira. Over the years, Mira has managed to piece together my past with Targent. She asks if I think Targent targeted Hershel. It's likely, even after all of my efforts to impede them.

Standing in our doorway, I promise Mira, "I'll be back as soon as possible."

"You'd better be..." She catches my hand, squeezes it. "I trust you." There's a fierce devotion in her eyes that until now she's reserved only for Anne.

"I trust you, too." I mean it.

"Wait, Dessy!" Anne skips down the hallway, Raymond in tow. She hugs my legs before handing me something white. "For luck!" It's her Descole mask.

I can never be the hero she believes I am, but I smile and pat her head. "Thank you, Anne."

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Raymond checks, his wise guardian sense kicking in.

I nod. No one is to accompany me. Not Raymond, not Mira. Obviously, Anne must be protected. And I plan to deal with Hershel's attackers personally...

* * *

Otis may be old, but he can still ride like the wind. We reach London under the veil of the stormy night. The metropolis is more monstrous than I remember; it's contaminated and congested, but it never stops thriving. Rather like Targent.

I leave Otis in a public park and head straight to the street where Hershel's body was found, according to my news article. The report contains an unhelpful amount of detail... but I'm relieved to know that Hershel was taken to hospital. He's alive, at the very least.

However, from the state of the street one would imagine that there _had_ been a murder. The crime scene has been taped off for a 'police only' investigation. Fortunately, I've come prepared for this...

With the help of a fake French police badge and a cogent accent, I'm granted access and I'm able to question the officers present.

"Witnesses claim the victim was assaulted by three males. No suspects have been confirmed as of yet, though," a tall moustached constable explains. He squints at me. "What did you say your name was again, Inspector...?"

"Vergier," I reply without missing a beat. "So, are there any apparent reasons why this Monsieur Layton was attacked?"

"At the moment, it seems to be an unprovoked attack. The poor bloke had just started working as an architecture professor at Gressenheller..."

" _Architecture?"_

He hums. "Or was it _archaeology_...?"

This comes as even more of a shock. _My_ brother— an archaeology professor! As a student, Hershel was never keen on the subject. He only put up with it because of Randall... Ah, of course _._ I wouldn't be surprised if he'd continued studying it, out of guilt for his deceased friend. (He's too remorseful for his own good.) _If Hershel stumbled upon something Targent was interested in..._

Oblivious to my dismay, the policeman looks away, hands in his pockets. "Makes me wonder why these things happen to good men— Oi, you, clear off!" I follow the direction of his shaking fist to see a small figure dashing away from the crime scene. The constable grumbles, "Little pest's been trying to sneak in here all day..."

Of all people, I'm reminded of Jun. But there's no way Jun could be here in London _... Is there?_ (For his sake, he better not be.)

I excuse myself from the constable (or rather, _"Excusez-moi"_ ) and go after the 'pest'. I find him slouched behind a neighbouring garden wall. Obviously, it's not Jun, but another boy in a green coat and cap, scrawling in a pocket notebook. At my approach, he instantly stops writing.

I muse aloud, "For someone so young, you're oddly close to the crime scene."

"Your _accent_ sounds odd," the boy shoots back. He's sharp, I'll give him that, but now I'm certain he was eavesdropping on the police officers. He squawks when I snag his arm, yanking back his coat sleeve. No Targent tattoo. Next, I tear through his notebook.

' _The gentleman in the top hat: Hershel Layton... Aged 27... Teaches at Gressenheller University... Often reads the papers and visits the library... Ambushed on his way home by three men—'_

I throw the notebook to the floor and demand, "Why are you so interested in Hershel Layton?"

"Like I'd tell _you!"_

I lift him off his feet by the collar. That makes the little stalker squeal, "H-he saved me, okay! I just want to get back at the guys who beat him up!"

Slowly, I let him go. "You... know their identities?"

"I- I think so, yes. I just need to find some evidence and hand it over to the police—"

"Don't bother. I'll take care of them. What did they look like?"

* * *

One by one, I hunt them down. They hide in dark alleys and dingy bars. I beat each attacker within inches of his life, like they did to Hershel. _The difference?_ I doubt the paramedics will reach any of them on time.

They are not Targent assassins. Just regular thugs. Pure scum.

When I reach the final thug, I want answers.

"Why did you target him?"

A pained groan. _"Who?"_

"The man in the top hat!"

"— _Master!"_

Whimpering. "We- we were _'ired_!"

I snarl, _"_ Hired by _who?"_

"— _Desmond!"_

"By... by B..." The name dies on his bloodied lips.

"DESMOND, STOP!"

Someone grabs my arms. I'm dragged backwards, away from the hitman sprawled beneath bridge. Still seething, I spin around. Who wants a piece of me now? _More_ _thugs? Targent...?_

 _"Raymond?"_ I pant. He stands there with an expression of undisguised disappointment... no, _horror._ Aimed at me. I swallow, glancing down at my blood-covered fists. Behind me, I hear a weak moan. "You were meant to stay with Mira and Anne," I mutter.

"Is that why you wanted to come alone?" Raymond growls. "So no one would see _this..."_ He gestures to the beaten man, my victim.

"He... he was among the group who hurt Hershel," I try. But the haze of rage is beginning to clear. From this attack, I'm no better than the brutes that almost killed my brother. Have I even stooped to Targent levels? I hold my head in my hands. "I did it for Hershel..."

Raymond sighs. He puts a reluctant hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the bridge. "The best thing you can do for Hershel right now is being by his side. Why don't you visit him in hospital?"

That's what I should have done in the first place.. _._

The moans have stopped now. I glance over my shoulder. "Should we take him with us...?"

Raymond doesn't look back. "It's too late."

* * *

Before going to the hospital, Raymond helps me get cleaned up. (It feels like the red stains will never wash off my hands...)

I almost disguise myself as a doctor to slip inside, but there's no need. Lucille and Roland Layton are here. A medical worker announces my presence and they confirm that I am indeed family. Still, my adopted parents are startled to see me when I enter Hershel's room. Lucille snaps to attention. Roland stops dozing in his chair.

Years can change people. I've certainly changed... But the Laytons don't look much different, despite a few grey hairs and the odd wrinkles around their eyes. Even in their exhaustion, they remain benign as ever.

I break the silence. "I'm sorry I've come so late."

"Well," Roland huffs, "at least you're here now."

Warily, I glance at the bed. "How is he?"

Hershel appears as I left him years ago, locked in a tortured slumber. Only now, no one knows how long it will take for him to wake up. Perhaps he never will.

"He's lucky to be alive..." Lucille's voice quivers. "Who would do this to him?" Her question isn't rhetorical.

"It wasn't due to shady characters, if that's what you're worried about," I assure them. "I've been keeping track of them since I left."

How cruel irony can be. I abandoned my brother in the hopes of saving him, and _this_ is where he ends up. He doesn't deserve this...

Gently, I comb my hand through Hershel's hair— I can't believe how short it now— checking for injuries. There are hardly any to be found on his head... It's then that I notice the black top hat sitting on the bedside table, almost watching over Hershel.

"It was a gift, from his girlfriend," Lucille explains. "He's refused to part with it since..."

"Since what?" I don't want to know the answer, but I listen as Lucille and Roland tell me about the young lady Hershel fell in love with at university. She was a fellow scientist, revered by many for her conviction, intelligence and compassion. I think I would have liked to meet her. In alternate circumstances, she and I could have been companions... maybe even in-laws. But she perished in a laboratory explosion. Yet another person ripped from Hershel's life... It seems he encounters a new tragedy every ten years.

I grip Hershel's hand. Hopefully, he knows I'm here for him.

"Are you... staying in London now, son?" Roland wonders.

"I would like to be nearer to Hershel for now." I hum. "I'll just need to tell my..." What exactly is Mira to me? _Fake wife? Fellow rebel? Partner in crime?_ I choose, "My... partner and daughter."

Roland blinks. "Does this mean I'm a _grandpa_?"

"This is wonderful!" Lucille gasps. "You should have told us sooner!"

"Sorry. Things have been complicated..." I smile. I wonder if they will remember Mira. They're certainly going to adore Anne. "I promise I'll bring them to meet you."

This is one promise I intend to keep.


	21. Chapter 21

_Hershel is 27, Desmond is 31._

* * *

Raymond and I don't talk much on the way home. It isn't a companionable kind of silence. It's awkward and empty.

I must constantly remind myself that Hershel is still breathing and he will _keep_ breathing until we return to London with Anne and Mira.

What would they think of my methods in dealing with those thugs? Mira might understand. She has slain enemies relentlessly in the past. It's an instinct of survival to her, born from slaving under Targent. But my gory actions would be enough to give Anne nightmares. (They already have for Hershel...)

I can't take this overwhelming guilt. I kill the quiet between us. "Raymond, am I a terrible person? Be honest."

He's riding in front of me on Otis's back, so I can't see his face. Eventually, he answers, "No... You've just faced terrible hardships for someone so young. It's those hardships that often shape who we are."

Then who does that make me? The boy Hershel Bronev died a long time ago. Desmond Layton disappeared the moment he left his brother. And now Desmond Sycamore is a murderer...

Sensing my unease, Raymond promises, "Things will get better, with time."

"I really hope so." Perhaps, if I can put my past behind me, I can start anew from here.

To lift my spirits, I imagine Anne's smile when I tell her she's going to meet her grandparents and her uncle. That's the one bright spot in this— all of us can finally be a family. But Anne has probably gone to bed by now, so the good news will have to wait until tomorrow.

When we reach Sycamore Farm, Raymond goes to put the weary Otis in the stable while I head straight to the house. Needless to say, I'm exhausted. The hall lights are off when I get inside. I expected Mira to be waiting with a lecture for being back so late...

Before I can call to her, I'm blinded. Some material—a bag— has been thrown over my head, and my arms have been pinned behind me. A blade bites my throat, stifling my protests.

Mira's voice hisses in my ear, "Don't struggle." This makes me struggle all the more, trying to break free, trying to alert Raymond, trying to demand what the _hell_ Mira thinks she's playing at—

"Please, Desmond." Never have I heard such a note of fear from her, with her nerves of steel. "They have Anne."

I freeze. _They've discovered our location. They're here, inside our home_. _With Anne._ I nod in understanding, in submission. My attempts at escape abate.

"Forgive me," Mira breathes as she herds me down the hall. (I 'accidentally' knock my wrist-communicator against the wall...) I hear a door opening— the lounge, probably. Mira shoves me into the room, to my knees. Though I no longer resist, I turn my head about, hoping to gage how many Targent member are present, and where Anne is...

A sharp cry. _"Dessy!"_ There, in front of the fireplace, if I'm correct.

"He's here," Mira tells her daughter's captors. "Let her go, now."

The voice that responds is cold and unremorseful. "No."

Deal's off, then. At least Mira is on my side again. The pressure of her sword suddenly leaves my throat. I whip the bag off my eyes as she throws her sword at the one restraining Anne. At the same time, a gunshot goes off.

Mira is fast enough to dodge a bullet. She's also fast enough to dive in front of me, taking the hit to her head.

Anne screams. Mira collapses. I fall to the floor with her, catching her head. "Mira... No..." For a heartbeat, her hand clutches mine. But her grip loosens...

She's gone. Beautiful, bold eyes gaze into nothing.

Anne's sobs drag me back to reality. Mira is dead, but I will save her daughter... _our_ daughter. Slowly, I lift my gaze to the man still holding Anne, and the gun. Mira's sword lodged itself into the mantelpiece, missing the bastard's throat by a hair's breadth. But the force of her throw was strong enough to knock off his black glasses. Red-brown eyes— the exact same shade of my own— glare back at me.

_It can't be...!_

"Such a waste of potential..." He tuts at Mira's body. "But there can be no mercy for Targent traitors. After all, sacrifices must be made—"

"For knowledge," I breathe.

Leon Bronev, my... my biological father smiles. "Good, you remember."

"How? _Why—_?" I blurt out. I wish my eyes deceived me. All these years, I thought he'd died along with my mother. It would have been a better alternative to this... _A_ _nything but this!_ How could he join them, after everything they have done to our family? How could he _murder_ Mira in cold blood, and threaten to do the same to Anne? Even _Hershel..._

The realisation of how truly sick and twisted my former father has become sinks in. "It _was_ you who sent the thugs after Hershel," I spit. " _Your own son!"_

"Theodore? No, no. We simply financed the man who ordered the attack. Though it saved us the trouble, I'll admit."

Hershel looking into his scientist sweetheart's death... The laboratory explosion... Targent funding the person behind the experiment... All to test an Azran energy source, I'll bet.

Bronev must notice the understanding dawning on my face. "Your brother always did ask too many questions... I'd hoped you would be more susceptible to Targent's ways. Yet, you stand to sabotage everything Rachel and I worked for. She would be so disappointed in you..."

Ignoring that low blow, I retort, "She would be more disgusted to see how _you_ turned out!"

This ruffles his composure slightly. "I am fulfilling our dream, her last wish. By leading Targent and the world into a new era!" He jabs his gun into Anne's temples, making her whimper. "You can either be a part of it, or fade with the ashes of the old world."

Sweat begins the form along my brow. One wrong move and Anne is done for. But I know better than to make bargains with this snake. (Look where it landed poor Mira...)

"I'm giving you the choice, son. However, you are trying my patience..." Bronev is so busy goading that he doesn't seem to hear the padding of footsteps on the roof.

I swallow. "If I swear my loyalty to you, will you release Anne?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. The girl will accompany us and will receive the finest training Targent has to offer—"

There's a low rumbling noise. Bemused, the Targent soldiers look up, Bronev included. Something comes shooting down the chimney. It's heavy, flaming and stinking. Horse manure. (Thank you, Raymond.) The Targent goons don't know that, though.

"Get down!" one man shouts, hitting the floor. The others follow suit.

As Bronev is standing directly in front of the fireplace, he suffers the brunt of Raymond's dung-bomb, and drops his gun. With a yelp, Anne manages to slip out of his grasp. She scrambles to pick up the weapon while Bronev wipes muck from his eyes.

I lunge forward to grab Anne, but I'm tackled to the ground by two of Bronev's lackeys. I claw, writhe and snarl, trying to reach for Anne.

"S-stop!" Hands quivering, Anne points the barrel of the gun from my assailants to Bronev.

Bronev opens his arms, as if to welcome the attack. "Do it then, girl. Prove that you have the guts to be a Targent agent."

" _Do it, Anne!"_ I second.

Anne squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to pull the trigger. Taking a life at the age of six— what a terrible, terrible thing to endure. This moment will surely haunt her to the end of her days, but I'd rather that if it means she'll survive another day. Right now, she's the spitting image of her mother— defiant, fearless...

Fearless enough to spare my villainous father's life.

Suddenly, I hear a window smashing. I've never felt more blessed for Raymond's existence.

"Raymond, _catch!"_ Anne tosses him the gun. (Let Raymond carry the burden of a dead man if he must.) I yell for him to get her out of here— forget about me! Anne starts running towards Raymond...

But then, she lets out a small, pained gasp, dropping to her knees. Behind her, Bronev stands, victorious. He withdraws Mira's sword, coated in Anne's blood, from her back.

It takes me a minute to process that he's just stabbed her through the heart. And what's left of my own heart stops.


	22. Chapter 22

_Hershel is 27, Desmond is 31._

* * *

_The young boy is now a grown man. He has learnt to conceal his true emotions behind a civil smile. Still, the fear remains— always remains— lurking beneath the surface of his composure. Until unconsciousness claims him and he slips..._

_Down..._

_Down..._

_Into the deepest bowels of Akbadain, drowning in darkness and echoes of the past._

_His empty hand flounders at thin air. The sickening sensation of falling overwhelms him. But it's merciful in contrast to whatever awaits him at the bottom. He doesn't ever want to witness such terrors._

_But he doesn't have a choice. Try as he might, he can't wake up this time. There's no escape, no reprieve._

_Before him appears a pile of bodies, accumulated. The first two he can't make out. However, the sight of the others leaves him choking for air: The broken remains of a red-haired boy, the charred form of a young woman._

_Blood parents... Best friend... Beloved..._

_Brother._

_Above the bodies stands a man. Not quite alive or dead; his face is masked in shadow. He extends his hand, making a sweeping gesture to the corpses._

_"All for you, brother."_

_Then, the world explodes._

It takes a month for Hershel Layton to finally stir. Desmond's name is the first word on his lips.

* * *

I stir with a jolt. I'm lying in the back of a moving vehicle. I hear horse hooves. The driver turns. Seeing Raymond's face doesn't console me. It's just a reminder that he left Anne and Mira to come after me, against my orders.

Raymond begins, "Are you alright, Desmond—?"

"Refer to me as _Master,"_ I snap, massaging my temples. "You know Targent are on our trail."

"Apologies, Master, but I doubt it. Bronev—" I flinch at the sound of _his_ name "—probably believes you're dead." Raymond coughs. "They... burned down the farm house while you were still inside. I just managed to get you out in time..."

Targent likes to destroy their adversaries and all evidence of their crimes. I swallow past the lump in my throat. They didn't even allow me to give Anne and Mira a proper goodbye...

If only I hadn't gone to London. If only I had looked deeper into my father's disappearance. If only I had saved them. _If only._

I close my eyes.

What a fool I was to hope I could have a family amidst the chaos of Targent. Both of them, killed in the crossfire. Killed by my former father.

How could I have been so naive? I will never truly be free of Targent or Leon Bronev or the Azran. Rather than outrun my demons, I must face them head-on. Me against Targent. No mercy, no distractions, no second chances.

I remove the white mask from my pocket; Anne's last gift to me. From now on, I will wear it and fully embrace my desire for vengeance.

They have already targeted Hershel, taken Anne and Mira from me. Every little shred of happiness, gone. There is nothing left for me to lose.

I may be the hollowed husk of a man, but I am Targent's reckoning.

I am Jean Descole.


	23. Chapter 23

_Hershel is 34, Desmond is 38._

* * *

In the innocent days of my youth, there was a fairytale I would often read to my younger brother entitled 'The Spectre's Call' (or 'The Last Spectre' in some publications). It turns out this fairytale... this legend does exist after all. While the old folklore is beneficial to my plans, I am not referring to the spectre. The story's setting, however— home to one of the great Azran legacies— is very, very real. Misthallery: Town of countless canals and infinite fog.

I know that the Golden Garden is here... somewhere. Perhaps I could put together an elite team of archaeologists and request permission to excavate around the town—

 _Ha, as if._ By the time that happened, Targent would have already caught wind of what I'm doing and would have taken the Golden Garden for themselves. It's much quicker and painless if I force Misthallery's citizens out of their homes during my search. (At least none of them will be shot on sight.)

Anyway, the mayor has already agreed that I may take whatever actions I deem necessary. I was rather surprised to learn Clark Triton is an old university friend of my brother's. Fortunately, they haven't been in touch for years. I doubt Triton even bothered visiting Hershel while he was in a coma.

Although he is tied to his career, Triton is a family man through and through. He would hate for anything to happen to his sullen son or his inquisitive wife...

I must remind Triton of this as its been months and there's still no sign of the Golden Garden.

"...Keep me happy, and I promise to not make you very _unhappy._ It is your choice, Triton."

"Yes. Yes, it is," concedes the spineless, broken man. I was in a similar position, once. But sympathy won't stop Targent.

Our conversation is cut short by a knock at the front door. I go to answer it, under the guise of the Tritons' butler, Doland Noble. "Coming..."

Standing on the doorstep is the single person I never wanted to see. My brother, Hershel Layton. A small, buried part of me rises with relief. He looks alive and well.

But the scheming mastermind is demanding, _Why is he HERE? Why NOW?_

To my credit, I retain a polite yet impassive demeanour. "Yes? May I help you?"

Hershel doesn't appear to recognise me. He simply greets me and explains that Mr Triton should be expecting him.

Hershel and his female companion wait in the foyer while I go to 'inform' Triton of their arrival. I wonder if Triton has any inkling of my ties to Hershel, but I can't question him without raising their suspicions.

I guide our untimely guests into the parlour. Hershel gratefully tips his hat to me, smiling.

He doesn't suspect anythin. He can't possibly...

Either way, I give Triton a withering look before he joins them. I listen at the door. Hershel catches up with his old friend and the woman introduces herself as Emmy Altava, the professor's assistant.

Triton confirms that a giant 'spectre' plagues Misthallery by night, though he denies sending the letter that brought Hershel here. If that's true, who else could be responsible? Could it be Targent, trying to expose my relation to Hershel and ruin my schemes?

Never one to refuse a friend in need— anyone in need— Hershel agrees to save Misthallery.

Hershel must leave, but it would appear too rash if I cast him out this instant...

I quell my concerns. Everything is fine. This can still work to my advantage. Hershel could even help lead me to the Golden Garden. In the unlikely chance that he comes too close to unveiling my identity, I'll let Third Eye Jakes scare him out of town.

For now, I'll have to escalate my plans...

* * *

My attack on North Ely does little to deter Hershel. (Of course, my Spectre Robot would be more effective if it weren't for that confounded sea creature.)

My brother has teamed up with the Tritons' son, the guilty letter writer, who is able to predict where the spectre strikes. I should have dealt with that little brat sooner...

Hershel ignores Jakes' warnings to leave Misthallery. He decides to look into Evan Barde's apparent suicide and questions Triton on the matter. I intervene, but Triton has the nerve to request Hershel check the cellar for 'wine'. My placid smile fades as soon as Hershel exits the study. "For your wife's sake," I hiss to Triton. "He'd better not find any 'wine'."

I follow Hershel and his companions down to the cellar, calling loudly enough to see if they require my assistance (and to conceal any cries for help). Hershel asks me about Barde before hastily declining to stay for dinner. Undoubtedly, he must suspect something is amiss by now.

Later, Jakes informs me that Hershel's group has managed to overcome the thugs he sent after them. This brings back unwanted memories, but Hershel has pushed me to my limits. The younger sibling I once swore to protect is now dead set on foiling my efforts.

Fate is so... interesting sometimes.

* * *

Tonight, Hershel and his friends try to spring a trap for the spectre. How futile. While Hershel may have gotten a closer view of my machine, they are detained by Jakes' men shortly after.

"I got 'em. No problem." As per my orders, Jakes dumps a handcuffed Hershel in the parlour I have claimed as my own.

"Be sure Layton's accomplices don't escape from prison," I say by way of dismissal.

"What, that mouthy miss and the mayor's kid?" The chief snorts. "We don't got to worry about them."

"Just keep your _third eye_ on them. Leave us, now."

When Jakes has grumbled off, Raymond reveals himself. He raises an eyebrow at Hershel.

"Are you quite sure about this, Master?"

"Yes. Tie him to a chair."

Raymond obeys without question.

It looks like Hershel has been knocked out by Jakes' forces. (I tell myself I don't care; he deserved that for his meddling.) For now, I'd rather he remained here, where Raymond and I can watch over him. When this is over, maybe I can even make him understand. Just as I turn to leave the room...

"It's been a long time... Desmond."

After all these years of searching and plotting and loathing, the name sounds foreign to me. I freeze in the doorway, putting a hand to my mask.

My greeting to Hershel is a growl. _"How?"_

Hershel sighs, "I had my suspicions when I discovered someone had a deep understanding of the spectre. Then I read some of Doland's notes— I would recognise your handwriting anywhere." (Curse the Tritons' cleaning lady...)

Finally, I look at him. He's sitting up in his chair with a frown. This is far from how I envisioned us reuniting ages ago. I take a seat opposite Hershel and he turns down Raymond's offer for tea, which he wouldn't be able to drink, anyway.

"I shouldn't be too surprised you figured it out," I eventually admit. "But if you tell a soul my identity, you will only cause your own downfall. I doubt Clark Triton would trust the brother of the man who threatened his family."

"How could you kidnap Brenda," Hershel accuses, "and Doland!"

"My treatment of them has been merciful compared to Targent's means."

Hershel's eyes widen. "What?"

"Don't you remember how they destroyed our family?" I say, trying to get through to him. "They made my life— _our_ lives— a living hell!"

"Ma and Pa told me that you had intended to visit us with your wife—" ("Partner," I correct.) "—and your daughter..." Hershel hesitates. "Where are they now?"

"They were murdered by the leader of Targent." I grit my teeth and gaze into the fire. "Leon Bronev, our former father."

Hershel gasps, "And our birth mother? What happened to her?"

"Also dead. Bronev is on a deranged mission to achieve her dying wish— the Azran Legacy."

"I can't believe it..." There is regret in Hershel's voice, but he can't truly morn the mother he doesn't remember. He swallows. "I'm sorry... But they are gone, Desmond. They can't be hurt anymore, yet you carry their memories with you. Like Bronev, you do unspeakable things in their name. Is this what you think they would want, for you to avenge them—?"

"Don't patronise me about _vengeance!"_ I bark at him. "Mira and Anne died because I was trying to avenge YOU!" Why can't he just keep his nose out of trouble? There was no one leading him on in London— no Randall— but he still landed himself in hospital. 

"Do you... resent me for that?" Hershel whispers after a moment.

I reply with my own loaded question. "Do you still resent me for Randall Ascot's death?"

"No..." Hershel hangs his head slightly, his top hat casting a shadow on his face. "I admit; I wasn't myself for a long time after what happened at Akbadain. But I think I've come to terms with Randall's death... and Claire's."

"You mean you've given up— forgotten what you were fighting for. " I shake my head. "I won't hold that against you, but nothing gives you the right to undermine my plans." I stand up, put on my cape and head to the door. It's time for the curtains to close on my quest for the Golden Garden. "Raymond, don't let him leave this room."

"Aye, Master."

I should have known better than to underestimate my brother.

* * *

Somehow, Hershel manages to escape along with his young assistants. (I can't imagine Raymond would release him, but I can't imagine Hershel would resort to violence either...)

When all of the residents— plus, one captured manatee— are gathered in the Grand Plaza, Hershel shows them the spectre's true form: My excavating machine, removed from the factory. He then reveals my disguise, but not my true identity. (He knows the full truth would ruin him.)

My cover has been blown. My hostages have been freed. But the beauty is that Hershel has underestimated me, too. Jean Descole is a scientist by nature...

Hershel and the citizens glance around in horror as my metal army swarms the town.

As I board a robot, my brother and I exchange a look, bright black eyes meeting obscured brown ones.

 _I have to stop you,_ his determined expression says.

I scowl back at him. _Stay out of my way, Hershel._

Neither of us is willing to back down from this battle. We share the same stubbornness, after all.


	24. Chapter 24

_Hershel is 34, Desmond is 39._

* * *

Our battle commences. Layton drops from the yellow plane, landing on my Detra-Gigant.

Yet again, he insists on being an obstacle in my path. So be it. I'm done toying with him. I was almost impressed watching him play through my game for Eternal Life, but the games end here.

I unsheathe my sword, face my enemy, and strike. Not a killing blow— a challenge. _How do your fencing skills fare, brother?_

Armed with ingenuity, he picks up a stray pipe and spins around to meet me. Metal clashes, our strengths seemingly matched.

"You need to... stop this madness!" Layton implores, his arms shaking from the force of pushing against my sword. "Call off your machine! We could find Ambrosia together, without all of this destruction—"

"Always the _idealist,"_ I sneer. "I would rather burn the world than let Targent claim it! I can guarantee they won't hold back— why should _I?"_ With a low swipe of my blade, I send him reeling backwards. We both know I'm the better swordsman, always have been.

Layton clutches his shoulder and quickly glances at the circling plane, steered by Emmy Altava and Luke Triton. It seems they are trying to rescue Melina. I think I threw her overboard when she got in my way (despite my best efforts to resurrect her)...

"We're coming, Melina!" Luke calls, and the professor smiles slightly. A proud, tender look akin to one I would have often given Anne. There lies Layton's weakness.

Chuckling, I turn back to the Detra-Gigant's control panel. "You know, you and I are more similar than meets the eye."

Layton's cautious gaze follows me once more. "I might have agreed with you, years ago. Now I don't believe I share your taste for anarchy."

"Perhaps with the right incentive..."

Just as I pull down the lever, sick realisation hits him and he lunges for me. "NO!" But he's too slow, too late.

Screams of terror taint the air. The Detra-Gigant's drill impales the plane, taking out the professor's irritating assistants in an explosion. He stares at the sky with wide eyes, shaking his head, unable to comprehend what I have done. His friends deserve this— _he_ deserves to live with this guilt. I've given him plenty of chances to stop interfering.

Layton lets out a quivering breath. "Luke... Emmy..."

First the shock, then the inevitable falls from grace. I just have to tip him over the edge.

"How does it feel," I hiss, "to lose _everything_ you care about?"

Layton's fist tightens around his pipe-weapon. I can just imagine the pent-up despair and rage churning inside him, ready to erupt. He'll be more liable to make a mistake when that happens.

"You always act so noble, but I know that deep down you are just as ruthless as me—"

My brother's snapping point doesn't come in a blaze of fury, but in an icy whisper. "I am nothing like you."

I release a grunt as I'm punched against the control panel. Altava is the offender, not Layton. He's too relieved by the sight of his three sidekicks, alive.

"Are you all alright?"

"We had a bit of a nasty fall," I hear Luke explain. "But Emmy got us out of the plane in time, and then we saved Melina."

To my indignation, Altava has caught me in an arm-lock. "He obliterated my plane!" she growls. "May I do the same to his _face,_ Professor?"

While the professor sounds quite tempted, he declines, "No... Let's not go that far."

Having recollected himself, he sighs and goes to pick up the music book from the keyboard's stand. My annotations of the Ambrosian seal; I deciphered it when I first arrived on the island and discovered remnants of the lost kingdom. (The Azran city was famous for its music and scientific marvels.)

After all of my work, after pouring all of my resources into this, Layton dares to suggest my findings are incorrect. "Descole, you may have found the songs of the sea and the stars. However, the seal actually hides three songs..." With a flick of his wrist, he turns the pattern upside down, revealing another melody. The final key: The sun. 

Layton starts playing the keyboard and asks Melina to perform _A Song of the Sea_. At first, nothing happens... but then Layton adds the third melody. I struggle under Altava's weight, jerking my head in Layton's direction. His eyes are closed as he plays; he looks at peace.

I've never envied him more.

There are gasps of awe as the ruins of Ambrosia ascend from the sea. While they're all busy gawking, I butt the back of my head into Altava's face, hopefully cracking her nose. Her grip slackens a little and I instantly roll away.

"Oh no you don't, Descole!"

Before I can reach for my sword, the insolent woman is upon me again, kicking and punching with enough skill to rival a Targent agent. I manage to dodge her attacks— she ends up damaging the control panel instead. The Detra-Gigant begins to destroy itself.

I no longer care. Once more, my brother has bested me without even trying, without sacrifice. It's always been easier for him. When Targent come to occupy Ambrosia, it will be on his watch. I'd like to see him fend them off without my aid. 

Layton herds Luke and Melina away from the fire caused by the malfunctioning controls. He shouts to his assistant, "Emmy, I think that should do it. We need to go!"

Altava shoots me a glare but follows the others, leaping onto a neighbouring cliff as the Detra-Gigant stumbles into the sea.

Layton is the last to leave. He and I stare at each other through the rising flames. For a moment, I wonder if he might call to me, ask me to come with them and hand myself over to the police. But he doesn't say a word. I turn and dive into the water below, out of sight.

Let him believe I've died. I hope he blames himself.

* * *

Several days of avoiding the Coastguard later, I rendezvous with Raymond. While he tried to help cure Melina's illness a year ago, he needed to visit the Millars during the game for Eternal Life. This was mostly to check up on a poorly Jinny (she and Bridget are pushing eighty these days) but I can tell he is relieved not to have been a part of my plot.

"I take it things didn't go well?" (I humph in reply.) Raymond guesses, "Hershel?"

"I don't want to talk about it. How are Jinny and Bridget?"

"They've still got some life left in them..." It's Raymond's turn to be sombre. "Grace was there, too."

I stiffen. "They have a _Targent commander_ living with them?" If a traitorous instructor can be executed, what is the punishment for a negligent commander?

"Though she's got a lot to atone for, it looks like Grace has shaken Targent for good. She just wants to be with Jinny and Bridget again."

"Did she inform you of any Targent secrets?" I wonder.

"No." Raymond shakes his head. When I sigh in frustration, he sends me a look. " _Understandably._ She can't risk her family being targeted by Targent... However, she was able to set me up with some transportation. For all Targent know, we made Commander Falcon _disappea_ r and hijacked her ship..."

Curiosity piqued, I follow him along the shoreline until we reach an isolated beach. My eyes widen at the sight of the white blimp with an orange base. (It's an impressive upgrade from a horse and carriage, I'll admit.)

Raymond waves his hand. "I give you the Airship Bostonius!"


	25. Chapter 25

_Hershel is 35, Desmond is 39._

* * *

Stansbury— I doubt anyone has heard of it these days. It's a ghost town, once renowned for its archaeological lore. Most of the villagers who knew me have moved on. No one talks about the Ascot tragedy anymore. No one mentions Desmond Layton, suspected murderer.

I do have somewhat fond memories of the place, as much as I try to block them out. Reading alongside my teenage brother, sitting down for dinner with the Laytons, training under Mira, Autumn walks with Raymond, chatting to Dalston, trading comebacks with Randall, even Uncle Doug's insufferable fishing trips... All before Targent stepped in.

I remind myself that we are not here to reminisce. Raymond and I are just passing through to check the Norwell Wall, and then to pay a quick visit to Ness's grave. It's still at the Memory Knoll, but it's overshadowed by another grave stone: Randall Ascot's. If there was a funeral after I left, they couldn't have found the body...

They couldn't have found the Mask of Chaos. When utilised with its twin, the Mask of Order, another Azran Legacy will be revealed. Targent were always after something far greater than Akbadain's gold. Where we find Randall Ascot, we will find the Mask of Chaos.

Our next stop is the ruins of Akbadain. If we are lucky, we may also come across the Mask of Order there, or at least uncover clues to its location.

Travelling is no problem thanks to the Bostonius, though Raymond insists on scaling the ruins with me this time. As we have the proper tools and knowledge now, I suppose there shouldn't be any... slipups. (Besides, I need Raymond's help carrying my supplies.)

There are signs that other explorers have scoured the ruins before us, like the mummies' absence.

In the final chamber, I see that the entirety of the Azran treasure is gone— right down to the last gold coin. 

Raymond and I stand on the edge of where Randall fell... where I let him fall.

_"Why didn't you save him?"_

Tossing a rock into the ravine, Raymond whistles. "That's a long way down..."

"I'm going," I say, pulling some rope out of my pack. I spear him a look when he opens his mouth to protest. _"Alone._ Keep the rope secure." I'm not so selfish that I would risk my companion's neck.

I descend into the pit that haunts my brother's nightmares... and I discover an underground river. If the Mask of Chaos was consumed by the current, it could be lost forever. But what's that further up ahead? Faint daylight— a way out of the cavern!

Just where does this river lead...?

* * *

Tracking the river's course, we end up in a remote village called Craggy Dale. More like Bumpkin Hell. At least it will be easy to blend in dressed as farmers.

When picking along the riverbank proves fruitless, we ask around if a golden mask has ever been recovered in these parts. My interrogations leave the villagers scratching their heads, but Raymond gets talking to an old farmer who could really use a shave. (And I thought Roland Layton had set the record for the world's largest beard...)

The farmer, Tannenbaum apparently came across a golden mask eighteen years ago, washed up on the banks of Craggy Dale... in the hands of a teenage boy.

 _Randall Ascot is alive!_ All this time he has been alive, working here as a farmer! I feel a surprising weight lift off my shoulders. This is better than I ever expected— he must still have the Mask of Chaos...

Of course, _of course,_ there's a catch. My grin slides into a frown as Tannenbaum continues. Randall— known as 'Lando' in Craggy Dale— may have survived the fall, but he lost his memories in the process. (That explains why he never tried to contact his family and friends.)

It can't be helped. As long as he held onto the mask, we can retrieve it.

Tannenbaum invites us back to his cottage for pastries in the hopes that we can enlighten 'Lando' of his past.

A coarse greeting— not the excited voice of a boy— confirms he is back from working in the fields. The ginger pest I once abhorred has turned into a tanned man with unruly red hair. His dark eyes have dulled with age, but I'd recognise him anywhere.

Randall looks from Raymond to me when he slopes into the sitting room.

"Who's this?"

Tannenbaum rasps, "These two reckon they've mit ye before, lad."

"You appeared on Craggy Dale's shores eighteen years ago, so discombobulated that you couldn't recall your own name," I tell Randall. "Correct?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Randall nods dubiously. "Go on..."

"The truth is, you ended up in this state due to an accident at the Akbadain Ruins."

"What would I want with some old ruins?" he snorts.

"Don't believe me?" I prompt, "Haven't you ever wondered why you were found clutching an ancient mask for dear life?"

"The mask..." For a moment, there's a flash of familiarity in his eyes, the old spark of an adventurer. But just like that, it's gone again. He shrugs. "It doesn't mean anything to me. I threw it away years ago."

"You _what?"_ I bristle.

Randall frowns. "Why does it matter? I don't care about ruins or masks. I'm happy where I am." He stretches, yawning. "Now, if you gents don't mind, it's been a long day. I'd rather have this conversation some other time..."

That's clearly our cue to leave, but I'm not moving until I know where he put the mask. "You must remember! Your real name is _Randall Ascot._ You were obsessed with archaeology—"

Randall growls, "I told you, _I don't care!"_

Tannenbaum goes to place a hand on Randall's shoulder. He mutters that maybe this was a bad idea and he informs Raymond and I that we've outstayed our welcome. Raymond apologises, bids the pair farewell and drags me out of the house before I can knock some sense into Randall.

My efforts to restore Randall's memories don't stop there. Next, Raymond suggests I try recounting Randall's life through a series of letters. (If this doesn't work, I'll build a Detragon Mark II and force the memories of him.)

"In this case," Raymond recites, "words may speak louder than actions."

When did he become a _fortune cookie...?_

However, Raymond's idea turns out to be a success. One week of letter writing later, I receive a reply: 'Meet me in Tannenbaum's barn.'

I enter the rundown barn to find Randall sitting on a haystack, a pile of letters beside him. He's staring at something golden in his hands— the Mask of Chaos!

Resisting the urge to pinch it from him then and there, I clear my throat. "You got my letters, I see."

Randall looks up and he sighs. "Honestly, I started to remember the minute you said my name. But when I read your letters, everything came flooding back." He fumbles to pick up a letter. "Growing up in Stansbury, what happened at Akbadain, all that I've lost..."

"You could get it all back."

"How would you know?" he hisses, glaring at me. "Who _are_ you?"

I need his absolute trust. This might be possible if he believes I'm the only person from his past who never abandoned him. Slowly, I peel back my mask.

He looks me in the eyes, shaking. "Des... Desmond Layton."

"In the flesh." I smile grimly. "Though, I don't go by that name anymore."

When the shock has worn off, he seems to recall his grudge for me. He grits his teeth and snaps, "Back at Akbadain— you nearly killed me!"

"Oh, please..." I roll my eyes. "You doomed yourself the moment you dragged us into those ruins."

"Where's Hershel? Henry and Angela? My parents... Wasn't anyone else searching for me?"

I shake my head and his shoulders droop.

"After a while, they all gave up and left you for dead. Hershel forgot about you in university, Angela grew tired of waiting, and Henry—"

Randall crumples the letter in his hand. "Henry stole _everything_ from me? I want to talk to him—"

"You'll require an elaborate setup if you wish to get the message across." I gesture to the Mask of Chaos. "I can arrange that..."

"You hated me when we were younger!" Randall narrows his eyes. "Why would you help me now?"

_Because, as much as I deny it, I feel slightly guilty about letting you fall._

"Because," I answer sincerely, "I know how it feels, being betrayed by someone I once called brother."


	26. Chapter 26

_Hershel is 35, Desmond is 39._

* * *

I've heard Henry Ledore possesses the Mask of Order. Most likely, he found it amongst the treasure of Akbadain— which I failed to notice eighteen years ago, being so concerned for my grieving brother. Henry used his new-found fortune to construct the booming city of Monte d'Or. (With a bit of help from some rivalling business owners.) Not only that, but Henry took Angela's hand in marriage. I could care less about this trivial love triangle, as long as it fuels Randall's hatred for Henry.

From our ledge on the desert outskirts, Randall glares down at the city, its neon lights reflecting the fury, hurt and betrayal in his eyes. "You were right... All those years that I struggled without my memories, Henry and Angela were living _here_ in luxury, scrounging off my life's work. How could they!" He takes a step forward as if he's going to march straight down there and spit in Henry's face.

I halt him with a sharp tug of the white wings that I'm _trying_ to fix to his back. "Hold _still."_ The wings are of my own design; they give the impression of a vengeful archangel while serving a similar function to a hang-glider. An essential part of the Randall's costume, combined with a pristine suit, a top hat and the Mask of Chaos. It's enough to unnerve even the calmest of gentlemen.

"Are you _done_ yet?" (I thought he would have learned to have _some_ patience by now...)

"...There." I stand up. "Now it's time to test them out."

Randall hesitates. "Wait! Are you sure this is safe, and sane?" ...Says the one who swaggered into some deadly ruins at the insightful age of seventeen.

"Are you _scared?"_

"Kind of..." He fiddles with his feathery appendages. "I don't have the best experience with heights. _Remember?"_

Disregarding his pointed scorn, I grumble, "You are not going to fall. My mechanical wings won't let you down."

With that, I shove him off the ledge. At first _,_ he plummets to the bed of sand below, his scream swallowed by the city noise. Then, his wings catch the wind and he shoots up like a flying red squirrel. "I-I'M FLYING! _WOOHOO!"_ (Amateur.) Laughing wildly, he wheels around several times before landing ungracefully beside me. "That was _amazing!"_ There's a glimmer of the rambunctious teen he once was.

Despite myself, I smirk. "You should never doubt my genius." I straighten out his wings and we stare at Monte d'Or again. Prepare yourselves, Mr and Mrs Ledore. The Masked Gentleman's show is about to begin.

* * *

Of course, it only takes a few weeks for Layton to get wind of the dark miracles plaguing Monte d'Or. I'm not at all surprised (or that worried). Though, given Angela's grudge for the Layton name, I thought she would take longer to contact him.

Henry has shown no sign of wielding the Mask of Order yet, so the miracles must go on. All my doing, obviously: People transforming into horses, paintings springing to life, visitors vanishing in an explosion... and now, _petrifaction._

I believe Layton is present at the boulevard when several citizens are seemingly turned to stone and the Masked Gentleman appears. Does it strike fear into his heart, seeing the Mask of Chaos again? The very thing that led to his childhood friend's 'demise' and ultimately destroyed our brotherly bond...

As per Angela's request, Layton and Co investigate the Masked Gentleman, working alongside the Monte d'Orian police force. They reside at the Camel's Hump Hotel, owned by none other than Alphonse Dalston. (Too bad, I won't be able to stay there.)

The next evening, Randall— that dunce— decides to invite Dalston to the plaza along with the Ledores. I scowl from my vantage point above the art gallery. While it may create discord between the key players in Monte d'Or, I'd rather leave Dalston out of the loop. This has _nothing_ to do with old friendships. Henry must believe the Mask of Chaos's magic is to blame for these deeds, not Dalston!

However, Henry fails to show up during the levitation miracle. Randall is too busy flirting with Angela to notice— it's no wonder she's so suspicious— but he suggests the Mask of Order should be brought forward tomorrow night, at Tingly Town.

Henry does eventually appear... not with the Mask of Order, but with the authorities to arrest Dalston. I try not to feel guilty, because it should throw them off the true Masked Gentleman's trail for now.

As promised, the following miracle happens at the local amusement park. Henry and Angela actually join Layton's gang this time— _still_ missing the Mask of Order. Well, I for one am sick of waiting. (There's a chance Targent may already be in Monte d'Or and if they beat me to it...)

After the Masked Gentleman makes the fair-goers 'disappear', he snatches Angela and flies her up to Tingly Tower. Henry bursts into the tower after them, bellowing for Angela through the darkness. I think it's time to make my switch, unbeknownst to Randall.

When Layton and the others find Angela seemingly unharmed, if a bit shaken, the Masked Gentleman warns that this is only a small taste of anguish compared to his final act. Then he bids us a fond farewell and takes off. (What a ham.)

Back at the amusement park, Layton gasps at the visitors who seem to have reappeared. "What on earth?" He and his assistants are dumbstruck; I resist the urge to smirk. They ponder over what it all means and dread what is to come tomorrow.

Layton says, "Henry, you should tell us everything... anything that you know. Do you really have no idea who the man under the mask might be? Is there no one you've made enemies with?"

"I have no idea who would be capable of this. Why has this monster gone so far? Perhaps... perhaps we should give him the Mask of Order, for the city..."

Everyone is exhausted. Parting ways with the professor, Luke and Emmy, we head back to the Ledores' Mansion. I almost tear Henry's study apart searching for that damn mask.

Where is it? _Where is it?_

"Henry?" Angela enters, wearing an expression of concern.

I look up from the desk. "I assumed you had gone to bed... Sorry if I disturbed you."

"No, it's quite alright. I understand if you're anxious..." She casts a dubious glance around the (now disarranged) room before shaking her head. "Things have been so stressful. Not just with the Masked Gentleman's antics, but Hershel's return, discussing Randall, quarrelling with Dalston—"

"It wasn't my intention to pin the blame on him," I mutter, meaning it. "I just feel like I've run out of options. If only I had the Mask of Order..."

Angela comes to place her hand over mine. "I know," she says gently. "You care so much for this city, so much for Randall, that you're willing to do anything. But we mustn't surrender to the Masked Gentleman's demands."

"Thank you, Angela." I force a faint smile, which she mirrors. Playing the part of a perfect husband, I lift my hand to cup her cheek. She appears pleasantly surprised by the warm gesture. However, when I guide her face to my lips, she recoils as if my touch burns her.

She gasps, "What are you _doing_?"

"Was that out of term?" I blink, honestly oblivious.

"For us— for _you_ , yes it was!"

Have I misjudged the sort of relationship the Ledores have? Is it more like the... bond I shared with Mira?

I sigh, "My apologies. I'm extremely tired and need to relax."

"There are plenty of other activities you can do to 'relax'," Angela huffs, flushing. "Like _cleaning this study,_ for a start. _"_

"In case you've forgotten, I have bigger priorities right now," I reply coolly. "Like _saving this city_. You could at least try to help me by locating the Mask of Order—"

"It's always about some mask or another, isn't it? You've become obsessed with it like... so _unlike_ yourself!" she snaps. (Always the theatrics with her.) "You spent _hours_ pouring over it...!"

I narrow my eyes at her. "What did you do with the mask?" When she presses her lips together in a thin line, I stand up and advance towards her. "Tell me where it is, Angela."

She backs into a corner, still shaking her head. "No..."

Just as I reach for her, I hear the door open and someone orders, "Keep away from her, you cad!" I turn and Angela shoves past me, racing to the side of an old lady in a wheelchair wielding a very sharp pair of sewing scissors.

"Mrs Ascot," Angela warns, "stay back! He isn't himself!"

Randall's mother frowns. "You mean that's not _our_ Henry. I know that boy like he's my own son... Angela dear, you're not injured, are you? Please call the police so they can arrest this man. Then we can find the real Henry—"

"I wouldn't recommend it," I sneer, "unless you want him to end up _like your son."_

At this, Mrs Ascot hesitates, but Angela assures her, "Randall is alive— he's _here,_ I'm sure of it." To me, she growls, "And if you lay so much as a _finger_ on Henry, you will never find that mask."

"We're at a stalemate, then." I smile. "Though, you really should fetch the mask before the Masked Gentleman's last miracle. Or it will be too late for everyone in Monte d'Or."

* * *

It seems fitting that the final miracle should occur at the Reunion Inn, the first establishment built before the city bloomed. I arrive there several hours early to interrogate Henry, locked in one of the hotel rooms, but even under duress, he claims to have no idea where the mask is.

I check his office for research and any artefacts he may have brought back from the ruins. Some of the items I discover are clear indicators that Henry never stopped searching for Randall. (Hopefully, Randall won't step foot in this room.) Such dedication for someone he considers a brother...

I'm about to investigate some records when a pack of pests come snooping into the office. It's the hotel manager, Mordaunt with Layton, Emmy and Luke behind him. Earlier, Layton did stop by the Ledores' Mansion to inquire about the Tingly Town miracle... and why Angela and Mrs Ascot were staying at Château Dalston. (Apparently, Layton cleared Dalston's name.) Angela hasn't told him anything, has she? Layton doesn't look suspicious...

I school my features into Henry's signature frown. "Mordaunt, I'd rather you request my permission before inviting guests into my office."

"Please, don't blame Mr Mordaunt," Layton insists. "I just wanted to ensure the Masked Gentleman hadn't been in here."

"...Very well, allow me to help you."

I keep a close eye on Layton as he scans the office. He studies an old journal and a photograph of Randall and Henry. Their examination seemingly fruitless, my brother leaves to search elsewhere...

...Just in time for the blackout.

I next meet Layton in the Grand Hall. Having rescued Luke from a high wire, the professor is now facing the Masked Gentleman. Angela and Mourdant have also joined them. Angela glares at me... until Randall removes his mask. I feign shock, but Layton seems unfazed.

Randall recounts how he survived, washed up in Craggy Dale, and regained his memories eighteen years later thanks to the only friend who came to find him.

I interrupt before he can reveal who that 'friend' was. "So, you became the Masked Gentleman to ruin our lives and everything I've accomplished. To think that I once respected you—"

Angela cries over my taunting, "Don't listen to him, Randall!"

"It was YOU who ruined ME!" Randall roars back at me. "You'll see how it feels to have all that you've 'accomplished' destroyed! Now that the final act of my revenge is at hand..."

This 'final act' involves him cackling from above the Reunion Inn and summoning an avalanche of sand to bury the city. "Watch closely, Henry! Watch as your precious city sinks into oblivion!"

This is the moment I've been waiting for. Layton insists that we head to the city monument. 

I demand, "Why are we here? Only the Mask of Order can counteract the Mask of Chaos..." I shoot Angela a look, but Layton assures me the mask is in a safe place and that we will now solve the true puzzle of Akbadain.

"The true puzzle...?" I breathe.

All along, the actual heart of Akbadain, the final chamber, has been lying under our noses. And, even more infuriating, Layton claims to have found the 'real' Mask of Chaos in the Reunion Inn archives, where Angela hid it. She has gone after Randall with Dalston, so Layton requires my help.

"So, it was here all along," I realise as we enter the chamber below the monument.

"And to solve this room's puzzle, we need both masks..."

My eyes widen as Layton takes out the Mask of Chaos and pulls it apart. The other half of the artefact is in fact the Mask of Order. They are one and the same.

' _Only the bearers of Chaos and Order may reveal our legacy,"_ the engraving states. ' _It is always the two halves that make the whole.'_

Standing on the stone dais, I place Chaos on one pedestal while Layton positions Order on the opposite side. He nods to me. Together, my brother and I solve the final puzzle of Akbadain. This triggers the mechanism that will save Monte d'Or... and more importantly, unlock the secret of Akbadain.

Chaos and Order...

The sun and the moon...

Descole and Layton.

The allegory is not lost on me.


	27. Chapter 27

_Hershel is 35, Desmond is 39._

* * *

Everyone is gathered around Randall in the Gallery Plaza.

"Witness the true treasure of the Azran..." Layton announces, gesturing to the sectors of Monte d'Or elevated by the ruins. "The riddle we could not have solved eighteen years ago, Randall. We were blinded by tales of fortune, while the most valuable archaeological find lay elsewhere all along." (Does he know another feature of Akbadain should have arisen elsewhere in the desert?)

Randall marvels at him. "You did it... You solved the puzzle of Akbadain."

"I had some help..." Layton admits.

"Your skill has magnified my own faults. Even in revenge... I am a failure." And I have failed to make Randall's revenge a success.

"Nonsense— the important part it that you're with us now."

Angela steps forward with open arms. "Oh, Randall..."

"Angela..."

"I've been waiting so long for your return!"

Randall backs away from her. "How _dare_ you? You never waited for me! You married _Henry!"_ At this, he scowls at me, standing on the edge of the company.

Angela also scowls. "No, that isn't—"

"After everything I've done for you Henry, you betray me like this? You stole my ideas and research... And if that wasn't enough, you stole... my love!"

"Listen to Angela, Randall!" Layton cuts in. "You're _wrong._ Henry took nothing from you. But you were used."

"Used? How?"

Layton begins to pace. "Everything you were told in those letters was a _lie._ The 'friend' who claimed to help you was in fact working _against_ you. They wished to fan the flames between you and everyone in Monte d'Or."

Randall's eyes widen. "You can't mean...!"

"The police thought there was someone behind the Masked Gentleman. They were right. Randall here was merely a puppet. There was someone behind the mask, pulling the strings all along." A sharp breeze ruffles Layton's coat, giving him quite the dramatic flair as he turns to point at me. "And that person is YOU!"

I smile at him. Let him unveil my identity. I'll drag him down with me.

"So it _was_ Henry? Make up your mind, Hershel!"

Ignoring Randall, Layton sighs, "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure...Descole."

Chuckling, I dispose of my disguise with a swish of my cape. (If Layton is surprised/relieved to see me alive, he hides it exceptionally.) "Well played, _brother._ Well played."

As expected, there are exclamations from the others:

"W-what is he talking about, Professor?" Luke yelps. 

Angela gasps, "I knew there was something familiar about him..."

"Professor, how long have you known about this?" Emmy demands.

Randall is the only one directing his anger at me. "I... I can't believe it! I trusted you, I _forgave_ you... and you set me up!"

"I gave you back your life," I retort. "You should be grateful."

"Well... This has been one hell of a high school reunion," Dalston coughs. "But does anyone know where Henry is?"

"Don't worry, I'm here," Mordaunt answers in Henry's voice. He removes the Mordaunt costume— presumably stolen from my hotel room— to reveal Henry, appearing haggard but otherwise unharmed. Angela goes to rest her hand on his shoulder.

Layton clarifies, "I found Henry locked in a room at the Reunion Inn. I asked him to wear a costume while we played Descole... Desmond's little game."

Randall stares at Henry in shock and shame. "So, all those terrible things I thought you said... They were never true."

I hum to Layton. "You pretended to be fooled by my Henry disguise until I helped you solve the riddle of Akbadain." I should be angry, but I find this rather amusing. I give the professor a slow clap. "Bravo. You've proved yourself to be a cunning liar like me."

He touches the brim of his hat. "I knew we could only solve that final puzzle together."

"Do tell, how did you figure it out?"

"When I first arrived here, I spoke to Angela. She had suspected Randall of being the Masked Gentleman all along. That was why she wrote me a letter. I sensed this deep unease within her. After the Tingly Town Miracle, Henry's behaviour only heightened this unease. You also gave yourself away when you sought out the Mask of Order, and when you provoked Randall, of course. Henry had actually been awaiting Randall's return all of these years."

Now _that_ takes dedication. If only I could be so lucky to have a brother as loyal as Henry...

"Very clever, _dear_ _Hershel_ ," I spit. "But I'm afraid I've already won. You've done my work for me, and you have some _explaining_ to do..." I laugh at his friends' furious expressions. "Until next time, _brother!_ "

Good luck to Layton talking himself out of this one. Inspector Grosky commands that I halt in the name of justice, but I've already made my exit.

* * *

Perhaps I was rather hasty to reveal our relation, but Randall would have said something, sooner or later. Targent already have their suspicions; they have been monitoring Layton and I in Monte d'Or all along. And now... they've reached the Infinite Vault of Akbadain.

Raymond and I watch from the vault's walls as all sorts of tanks, vehicles and airships surround us. I stiffen, but tell Raymond to hold his ground.

I steel myself even more when a sleek black car pulls up at the front of the formation and a bearded man emerges. He's just as despicable as I remember. Leon Bronev declares in a booming voice, "Trespassers, this site is now controlled by Targent."

We're too far away for him to truly recognise me. Still, I'm glad to be wearing my mask. _Thank you, Anne._

"Do we go quietly?" Raymond muses, a tad hopefully.

"These cowards are not in charge here..." Balling my fists, I raise my voice to the army, to my bastard father. "You are not recognised as any type of authority!" _You do not control me, you do not define me._ "And you disgust me with your demented world view." _Sacrifices must be made for those you love, not for knowledge and power._ "I will not let you steal that which I have earned!" _I will not let their deaths be in vain!_

I leap down from the ruins. Duck and roll. Discard my cape. Dodge the gunfire of Bronev's guards. All of my training, all of my planning, has prepared me for this. _I won't fail you again, Mira._

With a flying kick, I breach the wall of guards and throw a punch at Bronev. But he's one step ahead. The air whooshes out of me as he knees me in the gut. He hoists me up by the collar and the next thing I know, I'm in the dirt, crushed under several agents.

"Descole... Oh, Descole."

"You cannot do this!" I struggle like a worm trapped beneath his foot. "You have no right!"

"Oh contraire, my boy. Actually, I have every right. Now let's just take a look..." I clench my teeth as he slowly pulls my mask away. Why bother humiliating me? He knows who I am. Of course he does.

There's an explosion of white smoke. Fleeting footsteps, coughing and misdirected gunfire fills my ears. Raymond frees me and we run like hell. We don't stop until we're safely hidden outside the circle of military vehicles. Still, we're cautious _,_ we'll _always_ be cautious.

"That was too close," I mutter, rubbing dust out of my eyes. Bronev still has my mask... and now he's gained control of the ruins.

When Raymond doesn't answer, I turn. My anger evaporates at the odd sight before me. Raymond is clutching his chest; his breathing is laboured. Firstly, I wonder if the panic and the adrenaline rush have given him a heart attack. But this is Raymond — steadfast, fearless, brilliant Raymond. It would take much more than a heart ailment to cripple him.

Like a bullet wound, perhaps.

Raymond removes his hand from his chest, raising his eyebrows at the crimson substance that soaks his skin. "That's... not good..."

My eyes widen in horror. "You were _hit?_ " I surge forward to catch him when his knees buckle. (He wasn't fast enough... How could I forget about his weak leg?) I instantly apply pressure to the wound. Why did I throw my cape away? I could have used it to keep him warm...

It's like losing Mira and Anne all over again. I'm suddenly terrified and helpless— unable to prevent the life from draining from their eyes. Without Raymond... Who will lift my spirits? Who will be by my side? Who will pull me out of the pool of darkness? If he dies, I may never emerge again.

Raymond coughs painfully, blood wetting his lips. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologise, save your energy! You're going to be alright..." I glance around desperately to see if there are any Targent members nearby. _Where are they when you need them?_

"Master—"

"We'll hand ourselves over. They can heal you— they _have_ to!" Bronev can imprison me, indoctrinate me and break every bone in my body. I don't care, as long as my best friend survives.

He let outs a tired sigh, as if he's dealing with a stubborn twelve-year-old again. "Desmond Layton..."

"You can't leave me after all this! I...I f _orbid it!"_ My voice cracks. Tears sting my cheeks. It doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore. "Please, Raymond. I still need you, I always will..."

There's no consolation, no advice, no optimistic puns in reply. And there never will be again.

I barely resist when the agents arrive, too late, to peel me away from Raymond's body.

_Goodbye, Wise Guardian._


	28. Chapter 28

_It's the last_ _time_ _Hershel Layton visits Akbadain. (Not the last nightmare, of course.) But somehow, as he balances on the edge of awareness and dreaming, he realises he has nothing new to fear. The past is in the past. The future is in the future._

_He doesn't fall, or he no longer notices it. The tomb rushes up to meet him— dark, damp and inhabited by his dead._

_Some of the bodies are still there, skeletons in the closet, though there seems to be one less than before..._

_A light in the dark leads him out onto a grassy plane. Below an old tree, he sees the missing body—_ _boy_ _. The living breathing red-haired boy. He's digging something up from under the tree._

_He turns to Hershel, offering him the silver treasure with a smile. "Here."_

_It's a small crescent moon, smooth and cool in the palm of Hershel's hand. Puzzled, Hershel wonders, "But where is the sun?"_

_"Beats me!" The boy shrugs, picks up his shovel and hurries home. "See you!"_

_Hershel watches as he disappears over the horizon. The sun is beginning to rise, burning so bright, yet so far away. If he could just reach it..._

Desert sunlight streams through the curtains of the hotel room, waking Hershel Layton. He rubs his eyes and peers into the palm of his hand. _Empty._

Shaking his head, he dons his hat, glances at the sleeping forms of his assistants and gets up to gaze out the window. A new day awaits Monte d'Or. A new day to forgive and fix severed bonds.

Yet, not everyone is quite ready to forgive, Hershel included. There are still so many questions in need of guilty answers.

_"Why didn't you tell us, Professor? We're your friends... aren't we?"_

_"How could you keep this a secret?! I understand with Luke because he's so young...but I'm your_ _assistant!"_

_"I say, Layton... I thought that criminal was your sworn enemy?"_

_"You honestly had no idea of his intentions? Of... of course I don't blame you, Hershel."_

_"I don't think it would be wise if you stayed with us at the mansion. Forgive me; it's just... after what your brother did to Master Randall..."_

_"Why couldn't you have reached me before him, Hersh?"_

Only one question currently plagues Hershel's mind:

_Where are you now?_

* * *

_Hershel is 35, Desmond is 39._

* * *

This isn't a dream, no matter how much I wish it was. I gave up on dreaming years ago. After struggling to survive, after learning of my birth mother's demise, after turning my back on my brother and the true family we had found. After Mira and Anne filled the void left in my heart... only for Bronev to rip them away from me. After my life became a quest of blood and vengeance and betrayal.

Through every disaster and nefarious deed, I had Raymond.

The noise of an airship rouses me. I could pretend I simply dozed off on the Bostonius and Raymond will be at the helm, shrugging when I ask if he dropped a blanket over me...

My eyes drift open and stare blankly up at the domed metal ceiling.

"Are you awake?"

I roll my head to the side. The voice belongs to the Targent agent guarding me; a lean young man with shaggy black hair.

"I'm afraid we had to sedate you, and restrain you..."

It's then that I realise I'm handcuffed to a metal railing. I attempt to stand and my vision tilts at a sickening angle.

The agent is instantly on his feet. I expect some sort of punishment. Instead, he guides me back down to the green tiled floor. "Easy, Fruitcake..."

I squint at him. "Jun...?"

He gives me a lopsided grin, lowering his glasses. "The name's Dodger— _Agent_ _Dodger."_

"You're with Targent again?" I can barely muster up my disgust.

"Intelligence services, actually. Don't let the uniform fool you. My team was trying to infiltrate Targent at the ruins when there was a disturbance. We picked you up and now you're on our ship." He must see some fleeting hope cross my face, because his smile fades. "We were... too late to save Raymond. I'm truly sorry... And for what happened to Miss Sharpace and her daughter—"

The reminder hurts more than a blow would have. "You know?"

A solemn nod. "Yeah, you're kind of on our most wanted record for kidnapping and wanton destruction. Not as bad as Targent... But still, pretty bad. We had to arrest you and confiscate your weapons and your airship."

Apprehended by the intelligence services— I should be thankful it's not Targent. But there's only one thing on my mind right now. "Is... Is Raymond here?"

Jun shifts uncomfortably. "He's, er—he's still in our medical facility." 

I swallow. "I need to say goodbye to him— properly."

"I'll have to check in with HQ, but I promise I'll try to arrange something."

Before leaving, Jun tosses me a pack of Jammy Dodgers. "Eat. You look like you need it."

* * *

True to his word, Jun informs his team that I have suffered a loss at the hands of Targent and I should be allowed to grieve. His colleagues are reluctant, but they act sympathetic. They have all lost something to the agency: An escaped archaeologist deprived of her lower limbs, an ex-prisoner who didn't see the light of day for a decade, a fellow Targent deserter searching for her family...

Jun seems particularly fond the latter, Mint. (She's an experienced hacker; the reason the agents were able to hijack the Bostonius.) Jun introduces me to the blonde-haired woman as soon as we land in Stansbury.

The two agents must accompany me, but I'm permitted to... to lay Raymond to rest. I believe this is the place he mostly considered home, outside of Belmare. I can't risk leading the intelligence services to the retired Commander Falcon, though. Raymond would never forgive me...

But how would he feel if the Millars never discovered his fate?

"I can sympathise with your loss." Mint trains a handgun on me. "But you better not try anything funny."

She and Jun wait respectfully while I prepare a grave at the Memory Knoll, next to Ness. (The area is beginning to resemble a graveyard...)

_In memory of a Loyal Protector and a Loving Companion._

No... Raymond was so much more than my companion— he was my confidant and my conscience. In the end, it was my choices that killed him. Rather than stand down, rather than face Targent rationally, I fought fire with fire.

I thought I had nothing left to lose, so I took my one remaining friend for granted. Now he's gone, just like Anne and Mira.

The Millars _need_ to know.

How many others have I hurt in my obstinacy? Grieving families, childhood friends... even my own brother. Every bond, broken; I'm utterly alone.

_A wise man once said; we forge our own destiny. I think I understand now... You were always trying to guide me on the right path, weren't you? Could you see I was turning into my former father? You hoped I could do better, yet you followed me, regardless. I can never compensate for the terrible things I've done... but I'll try, for you._

_I promise, Raymond._

It's only when Jun addresses me that I realise I've spoken aloud. He's by my side and says under his breath, "Do you really mean that?"

 _Do I?_ I swore over Raymond's grave, but I have so much to atone for... Starting with the Millars— someone has to tell them.

I nod to Jun. He sighs and checks Mint is still stood several feet away from us. "I'm going to get a lot of flak for this..." He glances at the shovel in my hands. "Go for it."

Despite his codename, he doesn't dodge when I slam the shovel over his head.

He drops to the grass and Mint releases a startled yell. She rushes to catch Jun, rather than chasing after me.

_Sorry Jun, but I need to get to Scotland._

There are shouts of alarm as I reclaim the Bostonius, parked next to the agents' airship.

This is just my first bump on the road to redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mint Royce is an OC belonging to EmmyEeveeZorua.


	29. Chapter 29

" _Once upon a time, there lived two brothers. One with a heart of gold, and one with a heart of stone..."_

* * *

_Hershel is 35, Desmond is 39._

* * *

I assume Jun will keep the intelligence services off my back, but I make sure the Bostonius is hidden when we... when _I_ land, just in case.

Somehow, Belmare seems even bleaker than before. The welcome I receive at the Millar residence is far from warm.

Firstly, I'm assaulted by a feathered foe. Alerted by her falcon's shrieks, Commander Falcon... _Grace Miller_ emerges from the house. Her crow's feet-covered eyes narrow when she recognises me.

_"You..."_

The falcon continues clawing around my head, but that's not what makes me flinch. It's the sight of the firearm in Grace's hands.

"Are Jinny and Bridget here?" I manage to say. 

She responds with a question of her own. "Is Alistair with you?"

I should know this name. Then again, there are many things should have known about my best friend. "Alistair—?"

 _"Alistair Raymond."_ Her accent is more noticeable now. "Where is he?"

She can read the answer from my expression. There's a gasp, the gun clatters to the ground and she goes running into the village. The falcon flies after her with a mournful cry. I consider this my cue to enter the house.

Nothing makes you feel more helpless than another person's grief, especially when you're the bearer of grief. That day I learned of my birth mother's passing... That dark place I went to when Anne and Mira were slaughtered... How on Earth did Raymond cope with me?

I stand sombrely to the side as Bridget wraps her arms around Jinny, letting her sob into her bony shoulder. Surprisingly, even Bridget struggles to blink away tears. "How did it happen?" Her tone isn't accusing, but I'm willing to take the blame.

"He sacrificed himself to save me from Targent's leader—"

"Leon Bronev." Grace traipses inside, stinking of cigarette smoke. "That bawbag is still dragging Targent through the mud?" (Because the agency had such a clean reputation before my former father came along...)

I nod. Grace reveals slowly, "The last time he was here... Alistair told us about what happened to Mira Sharpace and her daughter. For all of her impudence, Sharpace didn't deserve that."

 _...Says the woman who tortured a teenage boy._ I don't utter it aloud, but Grace senses my distaste. She frowns. "I may have been at odds with Sharpace, but I respected her child's father, Ryan Herring. Fifteen years ago, he was under consideration to become Targent's top boss. Then he died in a 'freak' airship accident... Bronev leapt at the chance to take over after that."

While it is mildly useful to learn this— Mira rarely broached the subject of her Targent lover— why is Grace telling me now?

I ask and she explains, "If Bronev controls all three of the great legacies— those documented in the report you once stole from me— they will lead him to the ultimate power of the Azran civilisation. He wants to harness this power to 'revolutionise' our world. He must be stopped."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Is that an appeal for _me_ to take a stand? I'm done dealing with Targent." My interference always comes at the price of collateral damage.

"You're his son, aren't you?" Grace snorts when my eyes widen. "Don't act so surprised. If anyone can get through to him, it should be his family."

"He's no family of mine..." I amend quietly, "I have no family." No family that wants me.

"Is that so?" Grace goes to place her hands on Jinny and Bridgets' shoulders. United, the three of them look at me. Grace mutters, "Don't make the same mistakes I did."

I've made so many mistakes already... Though perhaps, if I can overcome Bronev without hurting anyone else, I'll be one step closer in honouring my oath to Alistair Raymond. To redeeming myself.

But will Bronev listen to reason? Will he listen to _me?_ Up until recently, I haven't been a stranger to creating chaos myself. We need order...

We need my brother, Hershel Layton.

_It is always the two halves that make the whole._

"I can't stop Bronev alone... But there is someone else who can help."

* * *

"Professor, there's someone here to see you!"

"Thank you, Luke— hm?"

The professor freezes when Luke bounds into his university office... followed by _me._ I'm wearing an innocuous black suit, a red tie and glasses (similar to those I had when I was younger) with a classy hairstyle. No disguises this time. Still, the professor has a right to be apprehensive.

He all but shoves Luke out of his office before turning to meet my gaze.

"If you are planning anything untoward, I should warn you that Emmy is in the vicinity..." His eyes dart around the room, probably searching for an impromptu weapon to defend himself with. If the extensive array of artefacts is any indication, he is a fine archaeologist.

I lift my hands in what is hopefully perceived as a calming sign. "I'm not here to cause trouble— I give you my word."

"Then why _are_ you here?"

"Raymond is dead." I don't know where else to start.

"Oh... I'm sorry to hear that. From what I remember, he was a good man." My brother's frown softens— perhaps due to the hollowness in my voice. "May I ask how...?"

I sink into the settee and he listens. It's been so long since we last had a civil conversation _._ I tell him about the disaster at the Infinite Vault of Akbadain, the promise I made on Raymond's deathbed and the doom that will arise from Bronev's actions.

"...That's why I've come to request your help," I conclude in a whisper.

"You must realise how difficult it is for me to fully trust you, after everything that's happened..." My brother moves to stare out the window.

I wince. "I understand, and I can't even begin to atone for my crimes— for what I've done to you and your companions. I won't be surprised if you never forgive me... But what Bronev's planning is—"

"It's bigger than us both." He nods in agreement. "We must secure the Azran's secret before Targent." ( _We...?_ )

I don't smile, but my eyes crinkle. "Thank you, Hershel."

Hershel cups his chin in his hand. "My only conditions are that you formally introduce yourself to Luke and Emmy, and apologise to them along with the others used in your previous schemes." (I take it his assistants didn't react well to learning we're related.)

I nod. If that's what it takes to win his... _their_ forgiveness, so be it.

Hershel calls Luke and Emmy into the office. With a deep breath, I announce, "Hello, we've met several times in the past, but never on the best of terms. You know me as Jean Descole, though from now on, you may refer to me as Desmond Sycamore, please—"

On that polite note, Emmy punches me in the nose. I guess I deserve it. Hershel asks her to let me speak. I continue with a bleeding nose. "E-Emmy Altava, I'm sorry for targeting you and your friends... and for destroying your plane." Next, I face the wide-eyed Luke. "Luke Triton, I'm sorry for threatening you, your family and your hometown... I hope you can both find it in your hearts to forgive me and we can work together."

Emmy huffs and storms outside. (At least she didn't do another number on me.) Luke remains, but keeps shooting wary glances at Hershel.

"This is really weird... I still can't believe you two are _brothers!"_

Hershel pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, along with a folded piece of paper. _Could it be...?_

"You kept it, after all these years?" My words sound muffled, either from the handkerchief or my amazement.

Luke squints at the Bronev family photo as Hershel smiles sadly, "Of course, I could never part with it."

"So, are these your parents?" Luke points at the beaming Leon and Rachel Bronev. "She looks a lot like you, Professor! And he has Descole— I mean, _Mr Sycamore_ 's eyes—"

"They are not our parents," I snap. "And I am nothing like him." Luke gives me a frightened look. I reel in my temper. "I'm not like him," I repeat, gently.

Hershel intervenes, "Our parents' names are Roland and Lucille. They live here in London. Desmond, it's been so long since you've seen them..."

* * *

The road to redemption is a long one, but it feels like I'm finally travelling in the right direction. With Luke and Emmys' assistance, Hershel and I try to pinpoint where Targent will strike next. When we're not neck-deep in Azran research, we visit many of Hershel's companions... the victims of my past misdeeds.

Luke doesn't inform his parents of my true identity, for they would surely not let him within a mile of the evil Jean Descole, and by extension— Hershel. However, I buy the Tritons tickets to an opera, Janice Quatlane's first performance since Melina Whistler passed on. We all attend, and I make sure to commend Janice for her singing.

The following day, we stop by the prison to bring Oswald Whistler a recording of the show. I even go as far as to admire Inspector Grosky's pompadour. (He returns the compliments for my 'sublime' hair.) 

Unfortunately, it's not so easy for me to meet our old friends in Monte d'Or. Hershel assures me that I will redeem myself in their eyes, someday. They seem to have forgiven him, at the very least.

"I just wish I could offer some sort of closure for the heartache I caused them..." I sigh, leaning my head against Hershel's desk.

"They're quite content now," Hershel assures me. "And remember, while your reasons for finding him were immoral, Randall wouldn't be home if it weren't for you."

That's my brother, always looking on the bright side. For the first time in ages, I smile at him. Then it's back to work.

We have an Azran Legacy to find.


	30. Chapter 30

_ " Their names were Desmond and Descole. As children, they were inseparable, but as they grew older, the pair quarrelled more and more..." _

* * *

_ Hershel is 36, Desmond is 40. _

* * *

At long last, we've found something! Not the Azran Legacy per se, but potential proof of its existence. 

Our work leads us to the winter town of Froenborg, where there is an ice cave supposedly dating back to the lost civilisation.

We travel on the Bostonius, much to Hershel, Emmy and Lukes' excitement. I can't quite share their enthusiasm. Piloting the Bostonius alone still feels... wrong. Perhaps it always will. 

When we reach Froenborg, I straighten up the ship's settee before following the others outside.

It seems I've become immune to the cold over the years. Either that or our winter apparel really does the trick. (Ma insisted on taking us shopping before we left London.)

After presenting some puzzles, the local residents inform us that the ice cave can be found to the north of town... but they also warn us about several 'suspicious' men lurking around. 

Hershel and I exchange a look. Are we too late?

Our fears are confirmed by an earthquake.

The tremors have decreased by the time we discover the ice cave. 

We rush inside to see a Targent squadron. 

Cool white vapour permeates the air and water streams across the cave floor. This appears to be the result of a melted wall of ice (millions of years old, I estimate). Standing before the broken wall is Leon Bronev. He's holding what must be the Azran relic...

...Not a relic— a  _ person _ . A pale golden-haired girl. My eyes widen. Could she have been preserved in the ice? Is she  alive — a sole survivor of the Azran Civilisation? That would make her a living mummy... albeit, very different to the mummies of Akbadain.

Alerted by the click of his lackeys' guns, Bronev turns. His gaze lingers on my brother and I. If he's surprised to see his two sons working together, he doesn't comment. 

“How nice of you to join us, but your presence is not permitted here."

"Neither is  _yours_ , " I hiss. The sight of the girl lying limp in his grip sickens me.  I won't let him harm another life!

Hershel places a hand on my shoulder, reminding me of our plan to reason with Bronev. 

For the first time in thirty years, Hershel faces our former father. His tone is calm but edged with contempt. "Where are you taking that girl?"

"You can accompany us if you wish to find out.” Bronev smirks under his beard. "Otherwise, stand aside."

There's no way we can refuse while we're in their firing range. 

As soon as they have left the cave, the four of us give chase. Hershel deduces, "That was Leon Bronev?"

I nod. "Unfortunately—"

"Look at that monster ship!" Outside, Luke draws our attention to the Targent fleet overhead... led by a gargantuan green airship. I'll bet Bronev is on there.

Back to the Bostonius we go, taking to the sky. 

I've been waiting for this. Thanks to some modifications, the Bostonius can transform from a blimp into an agile plane. It was Raymond's idea. May his spirit carry us to victory!

...This sentiment is ruined by Bronev intercepting our ship's radio and deploying drones to kill us. Hershel manages to shoot them down as we hurtle over the perilous Silver Peaks. 

I take a shortcut through a tight crevice, nearly crashing the Bostonius. (Right now, Raymond must be rolling in his grave...) We emerge to spot Targent flying over the sea. They fire a barrage of missiles at us next, which Hershel defeats as well.

When we're in range of Bronev's ship, I send out a cable, connecting us to them. "It's time to board their ship!"

Hershel volunteers, "I'll do it."

" _What_?!"  I exclaim at the same time as Luke.

"Only  you can steer the Bostonius, Desmond," my brother reminds me, running to open the hatch. "Luke, you stay here."

"W-wait, Professor! You leave without your Number One Apprentice!"

"What am I,  _ Swiss Cheese _ ?" Emmy grumbles.

"Be careful!" I yell after them. 

I watch as Hershel and Luke swing across the cable—  _Narrowly missing a propeller_!—  and jump safely aboard Bronev's ship.

Emmy joins me at the window. "Don't worry. They’ll be fine." (How can she sound so  _ certain _ ?)

"I'm not worried."

" Sure—"

Suddenly, the radio crackles.  _ Another message? _

" Well, well. If it isn't the famous Hershel Layton..."

My heart hammers when I hear Bronev's voice— addressing Hershel. Emmy gasps and we glance at each other. Have Hershel and Luke been caught?

At the very least, Hershel doesn't sound hurt.  " _You..."_

" Have we met? My name is Leon Bronev. I'm an archaeologist just like you... and Desmond Sycamore."

"Hershel, get out of there!" I order into our radio. But no one responds. Bronev must have cut me off on his side. I'm forced to listen, helpless, as he continues to taunt Hershel. Unless... Hershel is able to negotiate with him. This is his chance.

Hershel demands that Targent release the Azran girl, and Bronev laughs,  "If only it was that simple. For you see, this girl is crucial to our plans. You, however... are not . Say goodbye, boys— "

"NO!" I slam my fist into the radio when the communication ends. " _Hershel_!"  I turn to Emmy frantically. "You can fly a plane, can't you? Take the wheel! I'm going to storm their ship!"

If I'm too late, Bronev's going to put Hershel into another coma, permanently this time.

"Hold on— something's happening!" Emmy points out. 

Some sort of force rips through the Targent airship. It rocks from side to side as it loses altitude.

I sigh with relief when Luke and Hershel emerge from the ship, carrying the girl. But they aren't out of the woods yet— literally. They slide down the cable, only to be swallowed by the treetops below. As long as they're away from Bronev, I don't care.

I make an emergency landing on a lake that I recognise. This is Lake Kodh, located next to a town of the same name. It's known locally as Siren Lake—home to many a fallen airships and possibly an Azran relic. (This may be the source of some kind of magnetic field...)

Emmy and I find Hershel and Luke on the edge of the surrounding forest, dazed but intact. The girl is nowhere to be seen, though. 

I suggest that she may have gone in search of the Azran relic. She must feel so disorientated... Any remainder of her civilisation would provide solace.

We're not the only newcomers in Kodh— Targent are still on the hunt for the girl. As she is the key to the Azran Legacy, they will stop at nothing to capture her. 

Not so long ago, I too would have abused others as mere keys and tools in my schemes. But I have seen the error of my ways since then. (Haven't I?) Surely, we can make Bronev see as well.

One Kodh elder directs us to our 'friend' waiting by the station... Of course, it isn't the girl, but a man who is enamoured with Professor Layton. I roll my eyes and drag Hershel away from his admirer. "We don't have time for this."

As we scour the fish market, the stench makes me cover my nose. "Uncle Doug would be right at home here," Hershel chuckles. I gag in reply.

All of a sudden, there's a scream. Are Targent causing terror? Not quite— a fisherman claims to have seen a girl walking on water. (Just what sorcery are the Azran capable of?) 

Upon closer inspection of the lake's surface, we learn it's actually covered in ice, enabling us to walk… or rather, slip across. 

On the other side, we finally spot the wayward girl. 

She chants in an echoing ancient language, lifts her arms and reveals what can only be the Arzan relic, hidden under the lake. There's no time to be amazed, however. The four of us follow her into Kodh's Azran ruins: a moss-infested dome-shaped structure.

Inside, the ruins seem to be responding to the girl. She stands at the end of the walkway before a stone arch. Her body pulses with a strange blue power. I release a breath as that same power creates a pattern on the dome's walls. It appears to be... a map of the world.

At last, the girl turns to us. "I am the emissary of the Azran people. Aurora."


	31. Chapter 31

_ " The wise Desmond wished for a life of peace, yet he lacked the courage to achieve his desires..." _

* * *

_ Hershel is 36, Desmond is 40. _

* * *

Aurora, the Azran's messenger, has no memories of life before she awoke from the ice. Perhaps this is an effect of cryogenic sleep...?

Whatever the case, Aurora is still able to interact with the ruins and read the symbols on the dome's walls. They depict a story of the Great Riders of the Sky and five keys scattered across the globe. 

By finding these keys— or 'eggs' as Donald Rutledge calls them— we can unlock the power of the Azran. Aurora refers to them as 'aura stones'. Encountering more Azran relics may also restore her memories.

So, it's decided; we will take Aurora under our wing and protect her from Targent. The fact that she can translate Azran runes is of great benefit. (My translations have been quite... flawed in the past.)

We must travel to each location indicated on the dome's walls, ideally before Targent. But first, a quick trip to London is in order.

* * *

I had planned on undertaking more research while we’re in London, but Rosa the cleaning lady shoos me away from Hershel's office. The others drag me out shopping instead.

Waiting for the bus, we see Inspector Grosky, probably out on an investigation, and Dean Delmona. The dean is impressed when I solve a puzzle for his granddaughter. "Splendid work Mr Sycamore! We need more great minds like yours at Gressenheller."

When we reach Kensington High Street, Aurora is enchanted by the human establishments and the sheer number of people. I suppose from some perspectives London could appear beautiful.

We bump into Luke's mother, but while I'm discussing plate tectonics with her, Aurora goes missing. (Who knows what brutes she could encounter...)

Fortunately, we catch up to her at the museum. She explains that she is drawn to the Azran artefacts inside. Nobody can enter, however, because there's been a robbery. 

Could this be why Grosky is running rampant? Targent immediately springs to mind. It might be wise to hide Aurora, or to disguise her somehow.

Pretty as it is, Aurora's Azran dress is quite... distinct, so we decide to buy her some new clothes. Or rather,  Emmy  decides. Hershel doesn't know the first thing about 'ladies' fashion' and Emmy dismisses any input I have on the matter. "Thanks, but Aurora doesn't need a feather boa."

"Well, she certainly can't wear  that !" I scoff at the chequered pink coat Emmy is holding. It looks like something Ma would wear. (I might buy it for Ma...If we're meeting her and Pa, that is.) I point to the cute frilly dress in Emmy's other hand. "I prefer this one."

"It's not up to you, it's Aurora's choice!"

Poor Aurora is speechless. 

In the end, we settle for some green shorts and a peach-coloured top. Emmy allows me to tie Aurora's hair up with a blue ribbon. 

Aurora hesitates before I remove the pink pendant from her forehead. 

“Although I cannot recall why, this pendant is precious to me..."

"I understand." I smile at her in the mirror. "Do you want me to hold on to it for you?"

"If you wouldn't mind— yes please." 

The pendant goes in my pocket for safekeeping.

Outside the boutique, Luke and Hershel approve of Aurora's new attire. The others continue with the food shopping, but I notice that we’re being watched by a man in a navy blue shirt lounging besides a bakery. 

Jun points down the row of shops as I approach him. "There's a perfume stall just down this road..."

"Very funny. What are  you doing here? Shirking work?"

"You know, I should arrest you after you  assaulted  me…" He rubs the back of his dark hair and I wince slightly. "But I'm going to let it slide since you and your friends have Targent running amuck. Their numbers are spread thin around the world right now— it's the perfect time for us to liberate the Azran sites... and their training bases!"

"That's good news..." On the topic of training bases, I'm reminded of Anne's mysterious father. I ask, “While you were training at the Roost, did you ever encounter an agent called Ryan Herring? He was probably in the higher ranks." Bronev reasons for killing Anne and Mira go deeper than just punishing me. Perhaps he considered them a threat to his position, as they were linked to Herring.

Jun hums. "Ryan Herring... Herring... I think Miss Sharpace mentioned him a few times. He was a keen archaeologist who came out of nowhere." (Aren't they all?) "As far as Targent superiors go, he wasn't that bad a guy."

"Well, if you learn anything more about him, please tell me—"

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER, TARGENT REPROBATES!"

"That sounds like the ones I'm meant to be looking for," Jun admits as he and I follow Grosky's shouts down a dark alley. A gang of Targent thugs has the inspector surrounded, but Emmy beats us to the fight when she drops in from above. Four of the goons try to clamber up a drainpipe.

Their apparent leader, a man with pointed red hair, pulls himself out of a garbage can, "Oof... Nobody interferes with Targent... You'll... ngh... you'll regret this!"

Drawing a sword—  my  old épée— Jun steps in front of the leader before he can escape. "I don't think so, Pin Head."

I raise an eyebrow at Jun as we help Emmy and Grosky handcuff the thugs. "I see you kept my épée. Do you still have my wrist-communicator too?"

Jun shoves his hands behind his back, grinning sheepishly. "Maybe?"

"I no longer have need for them. Just don't lose them."

"Emmy, Desmond, there you are!" Hershel calls as he, Luke and Aurora join us. "Inspector Grosky, are you hurt?"

Hershel asks Grosky about Targent, but he refuses to spill the beans to civilians and dashes off again.

"So much for keeping things classified," Jun sighs when we turn to him instead. He introduces himself as Agent Dodger to Hershel, Luke, Emmy and Aurora. He explains that he suspects Targent are responsible not only for the museum robberies, but for infiltrating the police force.

We deliver the thugs to Scotland Yard and consult some records. Jun flashes his badge to the constables, allowing us to access the archives. 

According to one report, this is the fifth theft to occur at the museum this year; however, every time something is stolen, the items are recovered.

Emmy quips, "I wonder if our old friend Descole could be involved..."

" _ He  _ has nothing to do with it," I growl.

"Descole's somewhat reformed now," Jun adds. Emmy blinks at him for a minute before turning back to her shelf.

I suggest, "The most practical course of action now would be to investigate the museum itself."

On the way there, I'm interviewed by World Times correspondent, Dariya Kolum and we speak to Hannah, an avid admirer of Grosky. 

“She's one to watch out for..." Jun mutters. He glances at the copy of the Times Dariya gave me. "Are there any comic strips in there?"

Our timing at the museum is perfect. We meet Clark Triton and examine some recovered artefacts with him. Impressively, Clark has identified that there are fake pieces mixed in with the real artefacts, all of Azran origin. The culprit can be none other than Targent— a double agent working inside Scotland Yard...

"...The thief stole the artefacts and replaced them with fakes. He manipulated police information and disrupted the investigation. It must therefore have been someone in a position of power within the police who has been working undercover for Targent for some time. And that person is  you!"

It's nice not to be on the receiving end of Hershel's pointed finger for once. Leonard Bloom— outed thief and the Targent mole— merely smirks. Thinking back, he must have been liaising with Targent in Monte d'Or as well.

For now, London should be free of Targent's influence, but Jun still comes to say goodbye to us at the aerodrome. He’s the only one here, however...

"Is something wrong, Desmond?" Hershel asks.

"I was hoping Ma and Pa could be here to see us off," I say, looking around. "But they haven't been answering my calls..."

Hershel frowns. "Didn't Pa say they were going away for a party?"

"Either way, I'd like to be certain that they're safe." Though I might be jumping to conclusions, we can't take any chances.

"Leave it to me," Jun offers. "I'll check on them and let you know if there are any problems. Where are they staying...?"

It's not ideal, but I trust Jun. We must begin our hunt for the Azran eggs. The world is at stake.

My worries are temporarily forgotten when I discover Emmy has brought a stowaway aboard the Bostonius. 

I stare as Keats the puzzle keeping cat makes himself at home on the settee. Raymond wouldn't have minded him, but I'm more of a dog person.

If that cat excretes on the Bostonius, I will throw him overboard.


	32. Chapter 32

_ “Descole was brave— recklessly so. He wanted to fight the injustices of the world..." _

* * *

Hershel is 36, Desmond is 40.

* * *

Aurora squints at the old book, struggling to read aloud. "Des... Des..."

"It says Desmond and Descole," I prompt gently. During our travels, I've agreed to teach Aurora the written English language.

...With Luke's assistance, of course. He sits on her other side on the settee with Keats.

"You nearly had it, Aurora!"

"Learning how to read is more complex than I anticipated..."

"The ruins in Kodh allowed you to communicate with us verbally," I speculate. "But this may take time. You mustn't worry yourself though. There's no rush."

Reassured, she returns her attention to the page and points out, "Mr Sycamore, this character shares the same name as you, doesn't he?"

"Which one do you mean?" Luke squeaks when he realises what he's just asked. "Um, I'm sorry—"

Desmond or Descole?

"It doesn't matter," I murmur, standing up. Why in my right mind did I choose that story? Is some nostalgic part of me to blame? No doubt, Aurora reminds me of the daughter I once grew to love...

That ends our literacy lesson for today. Hershel looks up from studying the four Eggs we've collected, but I brush off his concern, heading to the helm. Emmy has been piloting the Bostonius for a change. She's fiddling with the radio when I inquire, "Any news?"

Emmy smiles and reports, "There's a message from Agent Dodger. He said Lucille and Roland Layton are fine. They've been moved to a secure location."

Hershel overhears us. "That's a relief."

It truly is; now we can complete our mission without fear that Targent have harmed our parents. I want to check Jun's message, but Aurora announces that she can sense the Azran power resonating.

Our next destination definitely indicates the last Egg is nearby. Mosinnia's high walls resemble Azran architecture, hiding a legend within. I inform my companions of this legend as we explore the eerily quiet city. "In the city of Mosinnia sleeps the eternal phoenix." Where there's a bird, there's probably an egg.

As we're investigating the golden phoenix statue in the city square, we hear a cry for help, followed by angry shouts.

It turns out to be a teenage boy... asking two Targent grunts for help, of all people. (He must be desperate.) Thankfully, the grunts just shove past him. He doesn't seem hurt when we reach him, but he is alarmed.

'Umid' explains that in the past week the adults of Mosinnia have succumbed to a deep slumber; his mother and one tourist included.

Umid invites us to his house to see the living— er, sleeping proof for ourselves.

We're not his only guests.

"Miss Angela, I found some more grownups from outside the city!" Umid calls.

The five of us follow him inside... to find Angela, Dalston, Henry and Randall there. Well, Randall is lying on a makeshift bed on the floor. The three conscious Monte d'Orians gape at us. Our group gapes right back at them.

Umid has rushed to the side of a bedridden woman— presumably his mother— but he glances between all of us. "What's wrong?"

"Hershel... Emmy... Luke..." Angela picks up a book she dropped. "W-what are you doing here?"

Henry's eyes have narrowed to slits at the sight of me. "With him?"

"We're trying to help this young man's mother..." I reply with as little venom as possible. I raise an eyebrow when Randall releases a loud snore. "It appears your master is in a similar state."

Henry huffs. Hershel joins him kneeling next to Randall.

"Do you know what caused them to end up like this?"

"No idea." Dalston shrugs. "It was Ascot's plan to come here for an 'archaeology holiday', but then he went and invited himself to a party last week. We thought he was drunk till he didn't wake up..."

"Same as my mum," Umid pipes up. "She went out after the phoenix festival, but the next morning she wouldn't respond, no matter how much I shook her! All the other grown-ups are like this!"

"Phoenix festival?" Aurora echoes.

"Oh, the phoenix is celebrated in Mosinnia because of an old legend," Umid explains. The story goes that the tears of the phoenix will cure any illness. (This certainly matches the Azran legacies of miracle healing and eternal life...)

Henry dares not leave Randall alone. However, Angela and Dalston are determined to find this supposed cure, even if it means working with me.

Umid leads us through the city so that we can talk to the local children. One little boy boasts he's seen the phoenix on a hillside overlooking the city. While the others search for a friend of Umid's, I go to investigate this 'Phoenix's Rest' with Luke and Dalston, both arguably the best with animals. Things between Dalston and I are still awkward (though not as awkward as with Angela).

Luke's teeth chatter at the forest surrounding the hill. "It looks c-creepy."

"Relax!" Dalston guffaws. "There's nothing but moths in there."

At the top of the hill, there's an old cistern, almost identical to the Azran ruins we've seen. This is further evidence that Mosinnia and the Azran are connected...

My musings are interrupted by a loud, "Squaaaaark!"

Perched above the cistern is a big ruffled red bird. Luke thinks he— his name is 'Alder', Luke insists— is the mythical phoenix and strikes up a conversation. I didn't put much faith in Luke's animal translations until he found out what was bothering an 'enraged' wolf in the town of Torrido. Apparently, Alder denies being the phoenix, but he is waiting for her. The bird flaps at the cistern's doors.

"You think she's inside there?" Luke deciphers dubiously. "That doesn't sound very likely. I think that's... a sluice gate. We had one in the town where I used to live. It's like a door for water, and... Never mind, it's not important. It was nice to meet you, Alder!"

Dalston adds sympathetically, "Good luck waiting for that girl, mate!"

According to Alder, there's an even larger bird around here that sparkles all over and overlooks the city. On our way back down, we pass that pesky Targent pair again.

Dalston frowns as they rush uphill to snag an egg from the 'phoenix' (despite Alder being male). "We saw a couple of blokes dressed like them when we left Monte d'Or..."

"I'm sure the authorities will deal with them," I hum. (Now that Ma and Pa are safe, Jun's team can fully focus on protecting the other Azran legacies.) I cough. "Is... Monte d'Or fully operational now?" After my little stunt to bury it in sand...

"It's alright," Dalston dismisses, though his voice has a layer of scorn. "Most of the buildings have been repaired, but I can't say the Masked Gentleman benefitted the tourist business in the long run."

"I'm honestly sorry to hear that."

"All's in the past now, isn't it?"

We reunite with everyone else in the city square. From chatting to the kids, Hershel and Co have determined that the cause of the coma likely came from the food consumed at the festival party. Umid's friend Mehri also mentioned that her grandmother— Mosinnia's wise keeper— was mumbling about the phoenix in her sleep.

She stands (sleeping) outside the temple to the north. Her mumblings aren't very coherent. Instead, we turn to the stone slabs lined like graves outside the temple. One tablet contains writing similar to what we saw in Kodh's Azran dome.

I smile when Aurora offers to read it. "The phoenix grants guidance only to the chosen few, those who bear the celestial burden and complete the perpetual cycle." She continues in a more confident tone, "Igneous bird born of dawn's west rays, cast your flaming wings over noon skies till your journey ends under an eastern moon. Those who complete the cycle, find your way to the entrance of the phoenix's protection."

Turning our attention to the large mural on the temple's wall, Emmy suggests the engravings around the central image could represent a cycle. After we have shifted the mural to match the riddle, there's a tremor and some the runes glow blue. According to the tablet, that means that we should find our way to the entrance of the 'phoenix's protection now...

The 'protection' could refer to the city's high walls. In which case, the entrance to the phoenix's protection would be the city's main gate.

Umid is doubtful things are so simple, when he spots an Azran plaque on the side of a building. Perhaps whatever mechanism caused that tremor also revealed this tablet. Aurora reads it: "From its ashes of birth, the reborn bird takes flight from the pinnacle of time and seeks respite westwards. Beyond lies six immovable mountains. The phoenix settles on the second peak, before crossing another on her way to paradise. The mountains she touches are resplendent with eternal light. When all is true, the bird shall open her heart."

Hershel proclaims the pinnacle of time refers to the clock tower above us. If we follow it westward as told in the inscriptions, we must look to the left. Over our heads is a beam with six stone slabs. As instructed by the riddle, we light them up and another tremor occurs, closer than last time.

I propose that the phoenix's 'heart' alludes to the centre of the city. Umid is impressed by how quickly I come to the solution, comparing me to his late father.

"Sounds like he would have been a wonderful father." I readjust my tie, staring curiously at the boy. He must be around fifteen, maybe sixteen... Again, I feel a pang of regret. I mumble, "If my daughter were still alive, she'd be about your age, too." Perhaps she would be in high school or accompanying us on this adventure.

Angela's eyes widen and she addresses me directly for the first time since our arrival, "You... you had a daughter?"

"Once."

In the city centre, we're shocked to see the phoenix statue has gone. (Trust Azran technology...) I try my hand at deciphering the words inscribed here, much to Aurora's amusement. "Its heart exposed, the phoenix stirs. When life's essence flows from the great gate, the ancient bird will rise from slumber."

This 'great gate' must be the sluice gate we came across earlier. One last puzzle solved. The water bursts from the gates, flowing through Mosinnia's canals to form the shape of a phoenix, sparkling in the sunlight. Alder squawks to confirm that this is the pretty bird he was talking about.

All that's left now is to collect the phoenix's tears. Umid leads us to her 'eye': at Preesha's Hill where, in the middle of the newly made lake, the hill rolls back to reveal a small cave.

Underneath the hill is a hidden Azran library; forgotten history bestowed to the future. Hershel takes ones side of the library, but there's no way he will be able to read as fast as me. (Translation is my speciality, after all.)

Using a formula from the archives and some ingredients from the forest, we concoct an all-curing panacea. Now we must test it out...

Back at Umid's house, Henry tentatively feeds Randall the cure, and he slowly awakens with a groan.

"Ugghhh... Five more minutes..."

"Master Randall, are you alright?"

Randall blinks, noticing me. He throws his arm over his face. "No, I think I'm having a nightmare..."

Banu isn't far behind Randall, much to Umid's relief. She wonders whether Dormis soporis, a toxic mushroom, was accidentally used in a dish at the after-party of the festival that the local adults— and Randall— attended.

I smile as Umid hugs his mum. It feels... redeeming knowing that I've played a role in saving these peoples' lives. Surely, Raymond would be proud.

Now all that remains is to find that final Egg...

At that moment, Mehri bursts into the already packed house to tell us that her grandmother has a 'parting gift' for us.

Before our Bostonius crew can visit the Keeper, Angela halts me at the front door. "Desmond, wait..." I stiffen, and she holds her hand over her heart. "I don't feel I can forgive you yet... but I must thank you. Without your help, Randall probably wouldn't be with us now. I couldn't bear to lose another person I love, not after what happened to Ryan..."

My eyes widen. "Ryan?"

"My brother. He left when I was ten and never came back."

What are the chances?

Ryan Redoll. Ryan Herring. Red-Herring. Perhaps it's just a name, but I know better than anyone how easily one's identity can change. Angela's brother definitely had an interest in archaeology which led to his disappearance. He lived in Stansbury— he might have known Mira. If I am right, this means Anne... Anne was Angela's niece.

"Is something wrong, Desmond?"

I look at Angela's kind, concerned face. Should I tell her what might have become of her brother and possibly her niece? Do I have a right not to tell her? She could be grateful, or she could hate me even more...

Admitting the truth has never been harder for me.

I take a deep breath. "Angela, I understand the pain in losing a person... people you love. So many times, I've asked myself why—"

"Stop!" Angela gasps. I'm silent as she composes herself, holding back a sob. "I've asked myself that too, but I don't want to know the answer anymore. It's been years since I saw him... but for first time in my life, I'm truly happy."

She glances into the house, where Dalston nearly knocks Henry aside to give Randall a noogie. She's smiling when she looks back at me. "But I appreciate that you're willing to be honest with me. Maybe... maybe one day when we're back home, you and Hershel could visit us in Monte d'Or?"

I return her smile. "Maybe."


	33. Chapter 33

" _But for all of their feuding, one could not live without the other..."_

* * *

_Hershel is 36, Desmond is 40._

* * *

Having just awoken from a deep slumber, Randall is in no fit state to travel, and it is unlikely the Monte d'Or gang will leave without him. Hershel and I opt against telling the four of them about the Azran Legacy. While the tensions between our old friends and I have eased slightly, I doubt I've won their complete trust yet. Furthermore, we can't risk putting them in Targent's way...

Although, we possess all five Azran Eggs now, so (optimistically) it should be smooth sailing from here. 

After saying our goodbyes— a civil nod from Henry, a handshake from Randall, a smile from Angela and a slap on the back from Dalston— we return to the Bostonius.

Aurora must call upon the power within herself and connect with the aura stones. So far, every time she's touched an egg, a piece of her memory has been recovered. But now, with all five at her disposal, she can unlock the secrets within.

Concentrating, she closes her eyes and calls upon the aura stones' power. The eggs respond with a blue light... all except for one. Aurora examines the inactive stone, exclaiming that it's a fake.

One egg is missing. We are _missing an egg!_

At some point, the real egg was taken and traded for this counterfeit. Luke declares that Targent must be responsible. I would blame those Targent underlings we saw earlier, but this is far more calculated than some petty theft. Why not steal all the eggs at once? The intent is obviously to lead us astray...

But it stands that the egg is lost, and Aurora's memories along with it. A quick trip to the Azran dome in Kodh reveals its new location:

The Nest— home to Targent's main headquarters. A foul unsavoury place I'd hoped to never step foot in. (The Roost is a pigeonhole by comparison.)

"I'll bet Bronev is waiting for us there," I say. If his aim is to meet us head-on, then so be it. This may be our last chance to talk him out of his deranged plans.

Hershel agrees, "We must proceed with caution."

"Always."

* * *

Nothing can prepare us for the welcome we receive at the Nest. (Welcome being in the literal sense.) There are no blazing canons or any kind commotion when the Bostonius lands, only silence. Obviously, Bronev is expecting us.

Still, the five of us keep our wits as we creep through the murky streets. That is, until we hear gunshots up ahead. The sound roars with the pulse in my ears. I freeze. My gaze flits from Hershel, to Aurora, to Luke, to Emmy, and back to Hershel.

I barely acknowledge my brother ushering me through a tunnel. Emerging on the other side, I'm struck by the sight of a figure hobbling towards us.

_A stooped figure with grey hair and a long thin face dressed in red clutching his wound —_

I shake myself from my stupor. I know that man; it's Mackintosh, an archaeologist we encountered several times investigating the Azran ruins. I also recognise the woman that follows him in a streak of blonde and teal-blue hair.

"Run!" Agent Mint yells, pushing past us.

I halt them, much to her annoyance. "Wait! Where's J-Dodger?"

"Still in Obsidian Tower," she explains quickly. "Now I need to get this man to safety." She steers Mackintosh in the direction of the landing strip. Two Targent thugs are hot on their heels. My companions and I make sure to avoid them.

In the heart of the Nest, we reach the Obsidian Tower. The front doors look like the bars of a cage, but there are no guards outside. Further proof that Bronev is luring us here... Well, let's not keep him waiting.

The first thing we see upon entering is a tall blue column, which Aurora feels Azran power emanating from. She reads the engravings left on the column. _"Our secrets and our power have been locked away, sealed with the five aura stones. Only with these five will the path open, the sanctuary beckon and our power be set free."_ (If Targent understand this, they must have had this knowledge all along...)

Emmy spies a lift across the room. However, there's a guard posted beside it. It's time for him to take a little nap... Using some Dormis soporis mushrooms I gathered in Mosinnia, I deploy a sleep bomb.

When we catch the lift, Luke wonders if Mr Mackintosh is ok. I assure him, "That lady he was with... Mint, will look after him. She's a friend of Agent Dodger's." Perhaps she and Jun are trying to free archaeologists from here...

"But why would a nice man like Mr Mackintosh be with Targent?"

"He was probably working for them against his will. That's the story for a lot of Targent researchers." I frown. "Once upon a time, they could have been ordinary people with families... until they were threatened into joining Targent." For all his faults, my former father is also a victim of this.

Luke can see his questions have struck a nerve. He says, "We'll show those Targent meanies!"

I blink at him before smiling. "That's the spirit, Luke. Look, we're here now..."

On the floor above, Aurora seems overwhelmed by the energy of the Azran column. She utters that a part of her memory has returned, something about her mission, but it feels different from her other memories. Even though she's fearful, she vows to fulfil her role as the messenger.

She manages to read the top of the column. _"We reached the apex of our civilisation. Ultimate knowledge was ours. What did we learn? That secret is kept by the messenger."_ Aurora's voice wavers _. "As her heart is pierced, let it be revealed. And let enlightenment be delivered. Our last legacy to the world."_

Hershel fears the Azran's legacy is not a blessing, but a terrible threat. While Bronev works for our birth mother's sake, his actions in doing so are extreme and impure. Maybe, if we can change his nature, then we can change the nature of the legacy.

Another lift stands between us and Bronev. We crack the code, and up we go.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles above the open top floor. (Even the elements bend to Bronev's evil will.) Aurora confirms that the egg is behind the doors of Bronev's office. It's certainly an imposing upgrade from the study he had in our childhood home...

And who should be waiting outside to lead Hershel and me to our former father?

Scar-Face smirks. "So, you've come to see the boss."

"Only _thirty years too late,"_ I hiss. "I'd say you've failed."

Hershel switches the subject. "Should you not be out there searching for your escaped prisoner?"

"That poor excuse for an archaeologist? He's just a pawn. No use wasting energy on him. That man, that... Mackintosh, was it? We get a few troublemakers like him who can't take orders. They usually end up running."

"He wants his freedom," Hershel points out. "I cannot blame him."

"We are on the verge of acquiring the power of the greatest civilisation that ever lived. Only a fool would throw that away... A fool or a weakling. Don't you understand? Targent would never have come this far without using strength and authority."

"But you kidnap people!" Luke protests.

"And they are lucky enough to have a part in our glorious mission." Scar-Face's voice rises with passion. "The very heart of Targent is in its military might and the great man who wields it, Commander Bronev."

Fists clenched, I growl, "How can you blindly follow a man who kidnaps — _kills_ to achieve his goals? He doesn't care about Targent's mission! He still holds your agency responsible forwhat happened to his wife!"

There's a pause, but the agent dismisses, "If you had accompanied me years ago, you would think differently. Now go." He moves aside.

Hershel looks at me. "Are you ready?"

I exhale, nodding. This time it's just us and Bronev. If we can appeal to that forgotten part of him — the part that once cared for his family — I pray he'll come to his senses. "Ready."

* * *

"At long last, here we all are." Bronev rises from his chair as if it's a throne, greeting us with open arms. "How do you like this Nest of ours?"

"Enough with the games, Bronev." I cut to the chase, though my tone remains composed. "Where is the Azran Egg?" My gaze scans the room; the vast bookshelves, the desks, the cabinets (one of which contains my old mask)... Take away the gothic decor, and I dare admit this office resembles Hershel's.

"The proper term is 'aura stone'." Bronev tsks. (Condescending swine.) "If you are patient, we will get to that in due time. Firstly, however, I would like to extend an invitation to join Targent."

"We aren't the slightest bit interested — "

"I wasn't talking to you," Bronev interrupts me, his gaze not leaving my brother. "Hershel Layton... You are an archaeologist of the highest calibre—one who knows the significance of the Azran ruins. Power and wisdom beyond anything mankind possesses today. Don't tell me you aren't tempted!"

Hershel declines, "The advancement of man's knowledge is a worthy goal, but one that should be pursued in freedom, not at the cost of human rights. You must realise this."

"Hmph! A noble sentiment indeed. However, you are also here today because you seek the aura stones. Really, what difference is there between you and me?"

"We are nothing like you! We understand the importance of free will." _I've_ learned to appreciate the importance. "Why would we ever want to become you slaves?"

"Free will? Pah! Are you so attached to your independence that you'd forgo the rewards of working together for a greater goal? No matter, let us not dwell on our disagreements. How about a little game?"

This is a favourite coin game of Bronev's — one I faintly recall him playing when I was a child. I doubt Hershel remembers the rules... and yet he manages to win through wit. Luke and Emmy cheer.

"Well then, Bronev, I appear to have won. Now, I believe the Azran Egg was the prize we agreed on."

"I suppose I have no choice, do I? You can have it." Bronev props the Egg on the desk before him. (Aurora nods to us — it's real alright.) "But before you start to feel smug, I'd like to show you something..." He directs our attention to the screen behind him.

" _You've outdone yourself today, my dear. Everything is delicious!"_

" _Well, of course! Don't you know what day it is today? It's the day we brought Desmond and Hershel home. Just about thirty years ago now, can you believe it?"_

" _Has it really been that long? Yes, I suppose it has. There have been some close shaves, I'll admit... but the four of us have gotten through it!"_

It's just a recording from the party they attended. Please, just let it be an empty threat...

But then, the picture on the screen shifts to a dank cell, with two prisoners.

No... Jun saved them. He said he'd saved them. They were supposed to be SAFE!

My horror is matched by Hershel's. "How...?" he utters.

"Such a charming old couple. You must be very fond of them, Layton." Bronev's smirk shifts to me. "Though, I was surprised to learn _you've_ grown an attachment for them, too."

All thoughts of negotiating go out the window. Bronev has stooped too low this time. I explode, "Let them go you sick piece of — "

"Do you remember what happened _last time_ you were in this position?" Bronev sneers. "You don't have the power to be making demands!" He turns to my conflicted brother. "I'll let my invitation sit with you for a minute..." Picking up the Azran Egg, he thrusts it towards Aurora. "You, girl, come here. Let's unlock the secret of the Aura Stones."

Aurora bites her lip, looking from me and Hershel to our captured parents. I give her a resigned nod and hand her the four other Eggs. "V-very well," Aurora acquiesces to Bronev. "Just don't hurt them." Her eyes glow as she asks the stones to reveal their true form. The five Eggs combine into one master key — the key to the Azran Legacy.

Bronev claims the key. "Excellent..."

I support Aurora as she clutches her head in pain, moaning. "Ngh... I... I remember! We mustn't enter the sanctuary – mustn't unleash the power of the Azran."

"Listen to her, Bronev!" Hershel pleads.

"I'll listen when she helps me solve the last puzzle."

"You don't understand — I _can't!"_ Aurora shakes her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. "Not even to save those people... I'm sorry! The Azran Legacy will destroy _everything!"_

"You're refusing to cooperate? Then you leave me with no choice," Bronev chuckles.

My eyes widen and dart to the screen, to Ma and Pa. _I can't lose them as well._

There's a startled yelp. Hershel, Aurora and I turn to see... Emmy holding a knife to Luke's throat.

"Do as he says, Aurora."

"S-stop it, Emmy! This isn't funny!"

"No, it's not. I'm deadly serious."

Hershel gasps, "Emmy, you can't mean...!"

"Yes, I work for Targent. All that time I was working as your assistant, I was watching you and reporting your findings on the Azran."

I grit my teeth. "You moved the Egg! You lied about Agent Dodger's message — you lied about _everything!"_

She barks out a laugh. "That's rich coming from you _, Descole._ You played the professor for a fool, planning to betray us all along!"

Tormented, Aurora stares at the struggling Luke. (Is their friendship worth the Azran Legacy?) "Please, Emmy, don't do this," she begs.

"Everything I've done has been for Uncle Leon. He's all I have left in this world, after losing my father. You know how that feels, don't you, Aurora? Being the last of your kind..."

I glare at Bronev. Here's yet another person he's corrupted with his lies.

Unable to see her friend harmed, Aurora surrenders to Bronev's side. Hershel and I don't attempt to stop her, not when Luke and our parents' lives are on the line.

"That's more like it." Bronev smiles at my brother and I. "Now, while we find the Azran Legacy, you two are to remain here. My executive officer, Swift, is waiting outside when you accept my invitation." He leaves the room with Emmy, Luke and Aurora in tow.

After several minutes, Scar-Face — Swift, comes inside.

I snarl, _"_ You'd better tell us where Lucille and Roland Layton are before I cut you a new scar — _"_

"No doubt you share Bronev's temper," Swift remarks. "But I thought you both had Layton's wit." He frowns at the footage of the prison, left on for our torture. "I may have respected Leon Bronev, but I'm indebted to Roland Layton."

"What do you mean?" Hershel breathes.

"He saved my life years ago — "

Suddenly, the office door flies open, knocking Swift off his feet. Jun bursts in, quickly subdues the executive officer and turns to me and Hershel. "We need to go, right now."

"Took you long enough," I huff as the three of us rush across the rooftop.

"I was a little busy trying to rescue your parents, when you guys showed up to have tea with Targent's leader! Didn't you read a word of my message?" Jun starts jabbing the button for the lift.

"We never read it — _I_ never read it! Emmy is a Targent mole!"

"Thought I recognised her..."

The lift finally arrives and we pile inside. Jun studies the lift's golden control panel. "I think your parents are being held in the basement. We just need the right code..."

"Allow me," Hershel offers. He presses the buttons in the shape of a downwards pointed arrow, and the lift begins to move.

Jun says, "Nice work. Now, let's just hope there aren't any guards waiting — " The lift grinds to an abrupt halt. Impatient grunts can be heard from behind the lift's doors. " — On the floor below. One sec'..."

Before I can protest, Jun clambers onto my shoulders and carves a hole in the lift's roof. He sighs with relief when a panel comes loose and hauls himself up through the hole. The voices have increased in volume and numbers. Hershel and I freeze when the doors slide open with a 'ding', revealing the shocked faces of five Targent agents. _"Now!"_ I holler to Jun.

I hear a blade slicing through steel. He's cut the cables. He's killed us all. (Forget the Azran Legacy.) Hershel and I hold on to each other, screaming, as the lift plummets down to the basement. There's a sound like nails on a chalkboard. Jun must be digging his sword into the lift shaft. It's working — we slow down before we hit the bottom. Our landing is more uncomfortable than catastrophic.

"You two ok?" Jun jumps down to see me and Hershel are shell-shocked.

At least we've reached the prison cells. I knock out some unlucky guards with the last of my sleep-bombs, and Jun makes short work of the cells' locks.

He grins. "This has gone from a rescue mission to a prison break."

Our mother lets out a relieved sob when Hershel and I arrive. Her eyes look raw and wisps of hair escape from her bun. I'm afraid she's too fragile to hug. Pa's head is cradled in her lap.

Jun decides the faster we get them to his ship, the better.

* * *

"You're alright!" On the agents' airship, Mint runs towards Jun, arms out-stretched. Jun opens his arms, expecting an embrace. She ends up shaking him instead. "What. Were. You. _Thinking?"_

Jun laughs. "Were you _worried...?"_ I clear my throat, and he nods. "Right, just give me a minute and I'll be with you — "

I shake my head. "No. We're depending on you to get our parents to safety. Hershel and I are going after Bronev alone... whether you like it or not."

The stubborn boy — _man_ holds my gaze for a moment. Mira would never back down from a fight, either. He really is her protégé, her legacy. But we both know how much is at stake now. "Whatever you say, Fruitcake." He sighs and goes to speak to Mackintosh at the helm.

Ma hugs us with feeble strength when we say goodbye.

"Don't worry," Hershel assures her. "We're just going on another adventure." One last adventure to end it all.

"Of course I'll worry. I always do." She kisses each of us on the forehead. "But I know you'll look out for each other."

"Our brave boys..." It's Pa — he's awake. He mumbles, "That fellow... The one with the nasty scar... said you'd rescue us."

"We could have saved you sooner it weren't for my negligence," I admit shamefully.

Pa sits up slowly and places a hand on my shoulder. "Oof... Now, listen here, Desmond Layton. It's time you stopped regarding yourself as a curse on this family. No matter what you do, I'll always be proud to call you my son— both of you."

That's all the encouragement I need. I turn to Hershel and he nods. We're going to save Luke and Aurora, and then, the world.


	34. Chapter 34

" _...Desmond eventually accepted this, only to learn that Descole had died in battle. While he was devastated, Desmond vowed to be strong, as his brother would have done..."_

* * *

_Hershel is 36, Desmond is 40._

* * *

Thanks to a certain scarred executive, we find out that Bronev is bound for Froenborg. This is where our adventure began— the place of the Aurora's awakening. I dread it will be the place of her demise if we're…

_Too late._

'Sanctuary' is not the term to describe the fortress consuming the skies of Froenborg. The Bostonius is reduced to the size of a mite as we approach it. This is something mankind has never witnessed— a force we could never hope to reckon with.

My brother and I are speechless. Bronev's done it. He's succeeded. The power of the Azran is now his to use as he pleases...

_Isn't it?_

Hershel gasps as something launches itself at our airship _. "Watch out!"_

Grunting, I manage to steer us out of the creature's path. But there are more of them— hundreds, teeming from the sanctuary. Are these the destroyers Aurora spoke of?

These... droids release purple rays, disintegrating any Targent vehicles on the ground. In other circumstances, this may have worked to our advantage. But they deem _us_ targets, too.

Hershel and I hit the deck as a laser tears across the helm, igniting the Bostonius's dashboard. I curse and try to regain control.

"It's no use, we need to get out of here," Hershel shouts.

"The cable— we can use the _cable!"_

With the controls rendered useless, I'll have to throw the line myself. We're about to jump out of the hatch, when there's a terrified, _"Meeeeow!"_

"That troublesome cat," I growl, risking precious time to scoop up Keats from the settee. I grab Hershel, aim the cable at the nearest Azran droid and leap out of the Bostonius before it takes a nosedive. The struggling droid is weighed down, but it gets us across to the sanctuary and we land in a heap on some stone steps.

 _"P-Professor!"_ Luke, seemingly unscathed, runs out of the sanctuary and throws his arms around Hershel's waist.

"Are you alright, my boy? Where is Aurora?"

Luke cries, "I-it's horrible! Bronev... H-he _stabbed_ Aurora in the heart!"

"He _WHAT?"_ I roar.

The ruthless murderous _foolish_ man is standing next to Emmy, staring at the swarm he's unleashed.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE _DONE_?"

Hershel makes no attempt to stop me from lunging at Bronev. But Emmy puts herself between me and her uncle. I'll fling that traitor off the sanctuary if she _still_ has delusions about following him—

Emmy slaps Bronev for me. He's too shocked to retaliate. "Are you happy now?" she hisses at him. "You finished what you started... and it was all for nothing. I dedicated my life to you, for _nothing_." Shamefully, she turns to Hershel and Luke. "This doesn't excuse my actions, but I'm sorry for deceiving you." She looks at me. "And I'm sorry I doubted you."

I raise an eyebrow. "What changed your mind?"

"I thought you were going to betray the professor, too. But just then, your reaction to hearing that Aurora was... That she's..."

At that moment, Aurora emerges from the sanctuary. She _survived!_ Despite the fact that Bronev pierced her heart, she walks towards us— not a speck of blood in sight. Unless... unless, her body isn't that of a human— Azran.

She isn't herself. The emissary is the voice of the Azran people— a puppet for the dead race. Much to Bronev's dismay, she clarifies that he has released a hail of destruction upon the world. Like the Azran, humans will fall prey to these golems— a sentient, powerful race. Aurora herself is a golem and she is their guardian. (Is this why she was so reluctant to inform us of the Azran Legacy earlier?)

Bronev can't believe it. "Everything I have been searching for these past decades... It was a lie... a trick! I sacrificed everything for this...!"

"Anne, Mira and Raymond died for this," I whisper. I'm not sure who I despise more right now— the Azran or my former father.

The latter is too disillusioned to hear me. "I lost my children, my wife... I threw my whole life away to solve the greatest puzzle in modern history! To gain superior knowledge and power that could change the world! Rachel believed... I would fulfil our dream..." He sinks to his knees, muttering to himself.

I'm more concerned about Aurora, who's blinking out of her trance. Hershel checks she isn't hurt and asks what we should do now.

Reluctantly, Aurora leads us into the sanctuary, where there is a purple prism in the center. Aurora explains that this is the device controlling both the mechanisms in the ruin and the golems. To stop the beams of light from the prism, five people must simultaneously step on the pedestals in the alcoves around the room. That includes myself, Hershel, Aurora, Luke...

Emmy steps forward to help us. "One last puzzle, for old time's sake?"

"As Pa would say..." I smile grimly at Hershel, but frown when he tries persuading Bronev to help. Before I can tell him not to bother, Aurora reveals that if we enter the beams of light, we will die.

"Are you... Are you still willing to do it? The decision is yours and yours alone. Will you take this chance to save humanity?"

Then there's no other choice. I'll do it. Hershel won't back out now, and I trust Emmy won't either. But how can we willingly send Luke and Aurora to their deaths? I glance at Bronev. Is he selfless enough to die for humanity— to spare _one_ child's life...?

Of course he isn't.

Luke has already decided for himself, running towards the pedestal. Hershel nods to Emmy and then says to me, "Desmond, I should have told you sooner... I forgive you."

I snort, shaking my head. "Did you think I hadn't already noticed that?"

There's no time for goodbyes or regrets or what-could-have-beens. The two of us follow the others' example, stepping into the light beams—

 _Pain,_ more excruciating than anything I've felt before. It's physical and mental, ripping across every fiber of my body, mind and soul. Burning me from the inside out. But I bite my tongue and endure, as I've done for most of my life.

Beyond my own agony, I hear Hershel calling to Aurora. She must be unable to enter the light... So, Hershel makes one last plea to Bronev.

Years ago, it would have been satisfying to hear my former father's tortured scream. But now he's accompanied by Emmy, Luke and Hershel. I hold on to the false hope that he will somehow survive this...

_Stay strong, Hershel. You need to live... For Ma and Pa... For both of us._

We fight until the light burns out and our bodies hit the floor.

* * *

_The pain is gone. I find myself standing in a house I once called home, with an old friend beside me._

" _How are you feeling, Desmond?"_

" _R-Raymond?" I breathe. "Is this a dream... or are we dead?"_

_Raymond simply looks around and shrugs. "You tell me."_

" _Maybe we're somewhere in-between?"_

" _Maybe...But let's not dwell on that." He steers me down the hallway, where my family are waiting._

" _Anne, Mira..."_

(Isn't there someone missing?)

" _Woof!"_

_Of course, how could I forget Ness?_

" _It's about time." Mira clicks her tongue, but she favours me with a smile._

" _I tried..." I choke out. "I honestly tried to atone for my crimes, but it wasn't enough."_

" _You've done more than enough," Raymond assures me._

_Anne cheers, "You did it, Dessy!" Ness barks in agreement._

_Mira's eyes gleam with tears._ (Am I imagining it?) _"We're proud of you, really. But you need to go now."_

" _Can't I stay here with all of you?" I plead._

_Raymond shakes his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid. The world is your oyster; so many adventures still await you. But we will meet again, some day."_

_The four of them seem to be shrinking; the hall is getting further and further away. I reach out to them._

_Please, don't leave me again... I want to stay..._

* * *

I take an unwanted breath. My eyes open to find Keats peering down at me. I'm lying on the pedestal, bathed in a soothing yellow light.

"We're... We're alive!" I hear Luke exclaim. Slowly, I sit up to see that he, Emmy, Hershel and even Bronev are on their feet. Aurora saved them.

She happily bestows to us all of the knowledge and power contained within these ruins. In the past, I probably would have leapt at such an opportunity. However, Hershel declines this gift on behalf of humanity, for surely one day humans will develop science and technology to rival the Azran. (I hope this is the case.)

"What's happening?" Emmy shouts as the ceiling begins to collapse.

Ultimately, there is no longer a need for the Azran sanctuary, or its guardian.

"The Azran sanctuary has fulfilled its purpose," Aurora recites. Her body is enveloped by a golden glow. "And so too have I. I thank you all." Without her mission, she has nothing left to live for. (Just like me...) Luke protests as she says that she must fade into obscurity along with the civilization that created her.

"I'm sorry," Hershel intones. I can already tell that he will blame himself for this. Regardless of his choice to accept their treasures, it's likely that the Azran still would have snuffed out their emissary's life at some point. What use is a messenger after the gift has been refused?

Luke grabs Aurora's hands, begging her to come with them. The scene is hauntingly familiar to me, and it makes this all the more difficult. Aurora shares one last tender look with the boy before telling us to leave.

"Very well..." Hershel tips his hat. "Let's go."

Unsurprisingly, Bronev is the first to leave. I have nothing to say to him, anyway. Emmy hovers in the exit.

"Luke! Desmond!" Hershel calls as the tremors increase.

Luke sobs out a goodbye to Aurora and edges away. I remain standing in front of her. Hershel tugs at my arm. "Come on, Desmond!"

My voice is monotonous. "Hershel... You need to go. You can't stay here."

"What?" He gasps as he comprehends my intentions. "No! I won't leave you!"

"Just go, Hershel."

"But—"

"P-Professor, hurry!" Luke cries.

I pull Hershel into an embrace before shoving him towards the exit. "Farewell, brother."

He doesn't want to say goodbye. He never does. With a choked noise, he finally races outside to safety. No one is coming to rescue me.

There's a sad mewl. I look down to see Keats rubbing against my legs. He's chosen to stay too.

Aurora's body is practically translucent when I say, "I'm sorry for throwing away the life you gave back to me."

Her voice is barely a whisper. "I forgive you... The Azran ruined your life, didn't they?"

My birth mother, my guardian, my partner and my child were all lost due to the Azran civilization. Those tragedies turned me into a monster, so much that I nearly forgot my true self. Yes, it was a struggle, but at least it was a life. Unlike Aurora, who has experienced so little of it...

As the sanctuary crumbles around us, I hold her close to me— what little remains of her. She says goodbye to Emmy, Hershel and Luke and wishes to be reborn as a human being one day. I hope they can hear her. I hope her wish is granted...

Something's burning in my pocket. My eyes widen as I remove Aurora's glowing Azran pendant.

There's a flash of light, and I know no more.


	35. Chapter 35

_Hershel is 36, ?_

* * *

"How are you holding up, Fruitcake?"

"Please don't let that be my name."

"It is to— you know what, forget it. Can you remember anything?"

"You people pulled me out of the rubble and then I woke up here..."

I have no idea where 'here' is, or who I am for that matter. All I can garner is that I'm in some sort of medical facility. 

My eyes drift to the occupant of the bed beside mine— a pale young lady with blonde hair. As far as I know, she hasn't stirred yet.

I look back at the dark-haired man. "That's all I remember."

He puts a black briefcase on the bed. "If I remind you of who you are... who you _were_ , it might stir up some memories. Not all of them are pleasant, though. It might be like opening an old scar." He glances down, rubbing his arm. "Or, I can create a completely new identity for you. The choice is all yours."

A chance to resume my former life... or a fresh start. I could be free of whatever demons haunt my past, at the cost of losing everything I have ever known.

After a few moments, I tell him my decision.

* * *

I feel... reborn, figuratively speaking. 

The group who saved me assign me a new address, a new career and a new ward to care for. She's still adjusting to this different life, but she's due to start school next week. 

Today, however, the two of us are going to meet one of my soon-to-be-colleagues.

Standing on the front doorstep, my daughter and I exchange a smile. Our pet cat—who insisted on accompanying us— meows impatiently at my feet. I roll my eyes and knock.

" _I'll get it!"_

The door swings open to reveal a boy in blue. There's a gasp. His eyes bulge at the sight of us. He releases a whimper and rushes into Aurora's arms. (Some things never change.)

"Luke, who was at the door...?" Hershel approaches the doorway and trails off.

Even the strongest of bonds can be broken...

I smile at him. "Hello, brother."

...But given time, some bonds can be mended.

_Farewell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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